


Ms. Carter

by indiefic



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy, a surprising amount of domesticity for a fic about sexwork, people lying to themselves relentlessly, rentboy Steve Rogers, roleplaying, sexwork, steggy babies, tragic facial hair, two idiots with no self control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-03-28 16:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: Steve Rogers is a former soldier, now an underemployed artist working for an escort service.  Peggy Carter is too busy to date.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therightpartner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therightpartner/gifts).



> A very belated Steggy Secret Santa gift for deputydirectorsmulders on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> This first section is very much inspired by the Liz/Forde relationship in Ms. Sloane.

On the other end of the line, Hill sighs.  “Look, I don’t have any more jobs for you, Rogers.  It’s the off season. You’re a specialty item. And you’ve already taken everything in your category.  Unless one of your regular clients calls in needing something, I don’t have anything.”

Steve grinds his teeth together.  “What about something  _ more lucrative _ .”

He can hear Hill take a deep breath.  “For the duration of our business relationship, you’ve been very clear about the types of contracts you’re willing to take.  As well as the types you won’t take.”

“I’m in a tight spot,” Steve says.  “I need money and I need it fast. Do you have something?”

He can almost hear her running the numbers.  He knows she would like him to expand his offerings.  But he also knows that she would like to do so in a controlled environment, and not under the gun like this.  

“Dammit,” she finally says.  “Here’s the thing. Thor’s MIA.  I’ve been able to shuffle most of his regulars to other service providers, but there’s one - ”

“I’ll take it,” Steve says.

“You haven’t heard the specifics,” Hill replies curtly.  “It’s a woman.”

Steve pauses.  “That’s fine. Why would you think that’s a problem?”

“I’m not in the business of assumptions, Rogers.  I don’t know your life. You should also know that she’s a pain in the ass.  An ice queen. She is incredibly particular. Odds are you’ll get over there and she’ll send you packing.  You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t shoot you on sight.”

“What choice does she have?” Steve asks.  While there are plenty of escort services in D.C., there aren’t many agencies like the one Hill runs.  She specializes in discretion. He’s heard from his own clients that it can be next to impossible to get a referral, and once you do, you can sit on a waiting list for months.

“Women like her always have a choice,” Hill replies dryly, “so you’d better be a thousand times more charming than you’ve ever demonstrated to me that you can be.  She’s a dom, so you sure as hell better figure out how to stow the lip and take direction.”

“A dom?  I’m not - “

“I don’t mean a literal bondage scene, Steve,” Hill snaps. “I mean in the general sense.  She’s used to giving orders, and having them followed without question.”

Steve takes a deep breath.  “I can do it. What’s it pay?”

“Ten times your usual rate.  If she doesn’t kick you out.”

“ _ Ten times? _ ” Steve can’t keep the shock out of his voice.

“Don’t complain to me,” Hill says flatly.  “I’ve been trying to get you to take better paying contracts for the last year.  If you’re broke, it’s your own fault.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Steve says.  “Text me the details.”

“You sure you can do this?” Hill asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you need anything?”

Steve frowns.  “Like what?”

“Pharmaceuticals, Rogers,” she says dryly.  “Alcohol and illegal drugs aren’t options. Not with this client.  So if you need something to enhance your performance, you better stop by the office.”

“Jesus,” Steve curses, scrubbing a hand over his face.  Is he really doing this? “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I won’t embarrass you.”

“I’m more worried about you embarrassing yourself.”

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Nat, it’s Steve,” he says, leaving a message.  “Listen, I’ll have the money by tomorrow. Tell Buck to stay on the waiting list.  Let me know when and where you can meet. Take care. See you soon.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy steps off the elevator and heads to the suite.  It has been a shit day and she is looking forward to blowing off some steam.  She lets herself into the room and shrugs out of her coat, hanging it up in the closet and then proceeds down the hall to the bedroom, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

She comes to an abrupt stop just inside the bedroom.  The man lounging on the bed is not Thor. She’s already dialing security as she demands, “Who are you?”

He immediately holds his hands up in supplication.  “I’m with the agency. Please don’t call the cops.”

“Yes, Ms. Carter?” the woman from the security desk answers.

Peggy mutes the call, looking at him.  “What’s the code?”

“Compass,” he says.  “I swear. I’m with the agency.”

Taking a deep breath, Peggy assesses the situation.  He’s attractive. Smaller than Thor, but exceedingly well proportioned.  He’s wearing a dark burgundy shirt made of a soft, clinging material. It looks like it’s at least two sizes too small, and it clearly defines his well muscled shoulders, arms, and chest.  His upper body is a work of art, perhaps even more impressive than Thor’s, if lacking Thor’s scale. 

She looks at him.  He’s pretty. And she wants to get laid.  It’s been a terrible day.

She makes a split second decision and unmutes the phone.  “Disregard,” she says. “It was a false alarm.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The man on the bed seems to relax.  He’s wearing low slung dark denim jeans, no shoes or socks.  He wears no jewelry and has no visible piercings. He’s clean shaven, but she can see the shadow of a heavy beard along his impressive jaw.

She crosses her arms over her chest, causing the material of her dress to pull taut as she studies him.  “Who are you?”

“Steve.”

“Where’s Thor?”

He smiles.  “He’s unavailable permanently.  Moved on. I’m here to make sure you get what you want.”

She takes a deep breath and exhales sharply.  “Stay where you are. Don’t move.” She dials the agency.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later, Peggy has confirmed Steve’s story.  She still doesn’t like it. At least, she doesn’t like the unexpected change of plans.  Steve, himself, seems inoffensive enough. He looks clean, the agency vouched that he’s passed all his recent health checks, and he’s proven himself to be sufficiently articulate and well mannered.  He’s attractive. If the agency sent him, presumably he can fulfill his end of the contract. 

But he seems uneasy.

“Are you new?” she asks.  When he looks at her, she elaborates, “To the vocation.  You look uncomfortable.”

“Ah ... no,” he says carefully.  “But you’re the first new client I’ve had in a while.”

“Really?” she asks, removing her earrings.  “And how many clients do you have?”

He shakes his head and gives her a small smile.  “I don’t discuss my clients with anyone.”

“No kissing and telling,” she says lightly.

He just looks at her for a long moment, and she’s taken with his eyes.  They’re light, but his lashes are dark and heavy. “Not everyone likes to be kissed,” he says quietly.

She arches an eyebrow.  Maybe he does have potential.  

She sets her phone down on the nightstand.  Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet. Cautiously, he walks toward her.  He is tall, taller than her. With her in heels and him in bare feet, they’re almost the same height.  It brings up some interesting possibilities, which she files away for later.

“Stop,” she says.

He stops, waiting.

Slowly, she steps closer to him.  He doesn’t attempt to reach out and paw her.  He stands there, watching. 

He’s becoming more interesting by the minute.  

She walks around him in a slow circuit.  His body is impressive. When they’re face to face again, she plucks at the hem of his shirt.  He takes the hint and pulls it over his head in one fluid move. Then he waits.

She sees it immediately.  His skin is a pale milky white, lighter than she usually favors, but appealing in its own way.  There is a smattering of freckles across his shoulders. And down his right side is a large scar.  It starts at chest level and extends at least to his hip. It seems to be the worst at his ribcage.  It’s at least five years old, she’d wager. It looks like he had several rounds of skin grafts, and it’s obvious he’s done a lot of physical rehab.  He’s waiting to see if it will turn her off. 

It doesn’t.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Car wreck,” he replies, without looking at her.

She walks around behind him, taking stock.  His shoulder to waist ratio is impressive. She wonders if he’s ever been a wrestler.  It’s clear he’s athletic. She can see calluses along his knuckles. A boxer? He certainly doesn’t have the face of a boxer.

She leans in, nearly pressing her nose against the nape of his neck.  He smells good. Not like cologne or scented body wash. Just clean skin.  She touches his shoulder and feels his breath catch, but he doesn’t move. His skin is so hot, warming her hand instantly.

Slowly, she skims her hand down his back and then around, to stroke his abdomen with her perfectly manicured nails.  She can feel his muscles tense under her touch. She bites down on his shoulder and he tries to swallow a groan. He’s responsive.  She likes that. And he takes direction well. She likes that more.

“Turn around,” she says.

He turns, watching her closely.  Upon closer inspection, his eyelashes are nothing short of amazing.  So is the rest of him. She can almost feel the coiled tension in his body, the buzz of anticipation.  He  _ likes _ this.  And she likes that.

Stepping back, she looks him up and down.  “Strip and get on the bed.” As soon as he starts to comply, she walks into the bathroom.  When she returns with the towel and small bottle, he’s on the bed as she directed, naked as the day he was born.

He still seems a bit uncomfortable, but it’s mixed with an undeniable excitement.  He’s breathing too fast, and his cheeks and chest are stained with a blush. She takes note of the fact that he’s neatly groomed.  He’s half erect already. His lips are parted slightly and he’s watching her intently. He is strikingly handsome. Her partners always are.  But Steve’s features appeal to her on a visceral level. From his heavy lashes to his full lips, the slight imperfection of his nose, the hard line of his jaw.  Taken all together, she finds him incredibly attractive.

She’s still wearing her dress, but she unzips it and lets it slide down her body to pool on the floor.  Her undergarments are matching black lace. She leaves the heels on. She watches him take a sharp breath, watches his flesh swell harder.

With some maneuvering, she makes herself comfortable on the bed, sitting next to him, on his left side, so she’s even with his hips, her legs tucked up under her.  His left hand is resting on the unoccupied pillow, his right is loose at his side. She doesn’t miss how his fists clench and unclench, but he’s perfectly still, waiting on her.

She takes the small bottle of lube and opens it, pouring a generous amount into her palm.  She rubs her hands together, warming the liquid. 

She watches his throat move as he swallows thickly.  “Do you want me to touch you?” he asks, his voice is low, husky.  Her nipples tighten at the sound.

Slowly, she turns her head and looks at him.  “No. I’m going to touch you.”

He nods, taking a deep breath.  He’s fully erect now.

She reaches for him with her right hand, slowly running the tips of her fingers up and down his shaft.  His breath catches and she watches his thigh muscles contract. Biting back a smile, she wraps her hand around his cock.  Her hand is glossy from the lube and her red lacquered nails are so shiny. She looks at him, finding him watching her, his attention fixated on her hand.

She strokes him slowly, up and down.  He’s more turned on than the circumstances should warrant - a simple, lazy handjob.  But his abs are tight and there’s perspiration beading on his upper lip. He’s into this.  And she doesn’t think it’s because he popped a handful of viagra and a couple redbulls. He likes her.  And he likes this power dynamic. That’s rare in her experience. Thor played along, but there was always an undercurrent of him vying for control.  Steve doesn’t appear to have any mutinous intentions. It’s clear he isn’t intimidated by her power. He enjoys it.

Peggy isn’t sure what Steve’s story is.  There was enough truth when he talked about other clients that she believes he’s been with the agency for a while.  But she also knows this is the first time he’s been in a situation like this. She wonders what he usually does. Or who.  Maybe he’s had an exclusive arrangement with a client. Peggy can understand the appeal.

She pauses for a moment, rearranges herself so she’s straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips.  She braces one hand against the headboard and uses the other to resume stroking his cock. She’s leaning over him, watching him.

Her intention has been to bring him to the edge and then back him off, to tease him, torment him.  It’s always been one of her preferred warmups. Enjoyable for everyone, and sets the tone for the evening to follow.

Steve’s hands brush against her knees, his thumbs skimming against her thighs.  She didn’t give him leave to touch her and it’s on the tip of her tongue to reprimand him when their eyes meet.

“ _ Please _ .”

His voice makes her shiver and she finds herself moving her hand faster.  His fingertips bite into her thighs and his breath catches. He groans as he comes.

She continues to stroke him until he’s finished, and then she sits back on her heels, looking at him.  He’s heavy lidded and loose limbed, flushed. She’s all too aware of how fast her own breathing is, how wet she is.

With as much grace as she can manage, she gets off the bed.  She wipes her hand, and then tosses the towel at him. “Clean up.”

Without looking back, she walks to the bathroom.  She avoids meeting her own eyes in the mirror as she washes her hands.  

She doesn’t know what just happened.  She isn’t sure if she likes it. Maybe she likes it too much.  All she knows is that she doesn’t usually deviate from her plan like that.

Shaking her head, she slips out of the few items of clothing she still wears, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor.  She twists her hair into a knot on the top of her head. The suite’s walk in shower is enormous and she starts the water, waiting until it is steaming to step inside.  She lets the hot spray pound against her back. She’s still aching with want, filled with restless energy.

She braces her forearm against the cool shower tiles, and rests her head against it, closing her eyes.  With her other hand, she touches herself. Her nipples are still pebbled to hard points. She pinches them lightly, groaning.  Then her hand ventures lower. She touches herself carefully, rubbing slowly with the pads of her fingers.

She hears the shower door open, feels the sudden rush of cool air before it closes again.  He’s standing there, behind her, trying to figure out what to do. She gives him credit for that.  He likes to observe and assess, rather than charging in.

Eventually, his fingertips come to rest lightly at her hips, and his lips press against her shoulder.  He waits, to see if she will reject him, or give him direction. She does neither, leaning back against him as she continues to touch herself.  She hears him curse under his breath, and then his right hand is skimming down her right arm, until he can cup his hand around hers. He mimics her movements with his hand.  “Show me,” he whispers, his lips against the shell of her ear.

She shows him, and he’s a fast learner.  His fingers are also considerably larger than her own, and callused.  She widens her stance for him, and he nips at her earlobe as he works her over until she’s shivering in his arms.

She waits until the world has righted itself again, and then turns.  He’s holding her loosely, watching her, waiting. Against her own better judgement, she reaches up and cpulls his head down.  He’s eager, but attentive. His lips feel as lush as they look, and he’s more talented with his tongue than she expects. When was the last time she kissed anyone?  And here she is making out with her paid escort. What the fuck is she doing?

Peggy pulls away.  He lets her go, looking forlorn.  But he doesn’t complain. She turns, rinsing herself under the spray, before turning off the water and leaving the shower.  He follows her. She doesn’t look at him as they both towel themselves dry.

She heads for the bedroom first and douses the lights before pulling back the covers and climbing into the bed.  Steve follows. He opens the nightstand drawer and removes a foil condom wrapper.

For Peggy, there is a Way Things Go, on nights like this.  So far, virtually nothing has gone to plan. And yet, when Steve reaches for her in the dark, she lets him pull her close.  

They touch and kiss, exploring, cataloging.  Peggy learns what he likes, and shows him what she likes.  When she finally sinks down on him and they begin to move together, it’s nothing short of relief for both of them.  

Peggy has always been one to look after her own needs, but Steve seems equally determined that she enjoy herself.  She reaches several peaks before he finally lets himself get close. To her own shock, Peggy finds herself whispering encouragement in his ear.  He likes it when she talks. When she tightens around him, his fingers bite into her hip and his breath comes short. She holds him close as he finally buries his face against her neck, finding his own release.

 

END CHAPTER


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha opens the envelope and looks at the cash, her lips pursed together tightly.  She looks up at Steve. “You have some rich uncle who James’ doesn’t know about?”

“I need to help,” he says.  “Is it enough?”

“It’s too much,” she says, shaking her head, trying to hand it back.  “His meds will only be four this first week.”

Steve doesn’t reach out to take the envelope back.  “Yeah, but you probably need supplies, groceries. Even now that he got into the clinical trial, that crappy policy he found doesn’t cover staples any more than it covers the meds.”

Natasha’s brows draw together and Steve suspects her pride is stung.  But he also knows she is ruthlessly practical, and barely hanging on.  It was a real stroke of luck that Bucky was approved to be part of the drug trial.  But it's hardly the end of their problems.

“I know you’re not asking for help,” Steve says.  “But I know you need it. Buck can’t work.  I know you’ve got it under control, but you can’t do it all. He’s the only family I have.  And he’s pulled my ass out of the fire more times than I can count. Please let me help.”

Natasha blinks quickly and then gives him a wry, if somewhat watery, smile.  “James warned me you were a pain in the ass.”

Steve smiles, knowing he’s won the argument.  “Guilty as charged. Let me know if you need anything else.  I have a lot of free time during the day.”

 

* * *

 

Sam gives the barista a blinding smile, which she returns with a wink.  The hipster shop is small and crowded. Steve feels woefully underdressed.  Or overdressed. He’s never sure.

Sam and Steve manage to find a free table in the corner.  As soon as they’re seated, Sam leans back in his chair. “How’s Barnes?”

By the time Sam joined the unit, Bucky had already been booted out.  They knew each other - mostly by reputation - for years. But now that they’re all in D.C., they’re becoming actual friends.  It’s been bumpy in places. They’re both better friends with Steve than they are with one another. But there will always be a camaraderie between soldiers.

Steve frowns, shaking his head.  “Buck and Natasha are both tight lipped, but it’s bad.”

Sam frowns.  “Cancer?”

Steve nods.  Bucky admitted that much, though he wasn’t anymore forthcoming with details.  Steve has no idea what the official prognosis is, but he knows it can’t be good.  They lost Junior two years ago. The docs said it wasn’t related to his service, but it seems like a hell of a coincidence.  Buck and Junior pulled a lot of dangerous assignments together, just the two of them.

“Shit,” Sam curses under his breath.

“Yeah,” Steve says wearily.  He takes a drink of his coffee.  He doubts it’s going to make a dent in his exhaustion.  He got almost no sleep last night. Not that he’d trade sleep for the night he had.

Sam contemplates his own coffee for a long moment and then asks, “Do they know how you got the money?”

“No,” Steve says flatly, giving Sam a warning look.  “And I wouldn’t have told you either if I’d known you were going to give me this much hell about it.”

“Hey, man,” Sam says, holding up his hands.  “I was just asking. No judgment.”

Steve shakes his head and looks away, taking another drink of his coffee.

“So you ...” Sam starts.  “You really ... did it?”

Steve looks at him, frowning.  “Yes. I did it.”

Sam stares at him, incredulous.  “You really, I mean you really just - “

“Had sex for money,” Steve says flatly.  “Yes. I did. Thanks for asking.”

Sam shakes his head again.  “Sorry, man, I just can’t wrap my head around it.  It’s usually like pulling teeth trying to get you to buy a girl a drink.”

Steve doesn’t deny it.  Sam’s words are true enough.  He shrugs. “This was different.  She was different.” The second he’s said it, he knows he’s said too much.

“Different?”

“Nevermind.”

“Oh, no,” Sam says, “back up.  Different how?”

“Forget I said anything.”

 

* * *

 

Steve looks at the screen and then takes the call.  “Yeah?”

“I have two jobs available, at the higher pay rate,” Hill says.  “One tonight, and another on Sunday.”

Steve frowns, looking down at his shoes.  “Same client?”

“Different clients,” she clarifies.  “One time transactions. But the ice queen got back to us.  She wants to set up a regular schedule, every Tuesday and Thursday, same time.  Location will vary. I guess you must have done something right. I told her I’d have to check.  I know you said Thursdays are out for you, so I can go with another - “

“I can make Tuesdays and Thursdays work,” Steve says, cutting her off.  “A regular gig?”

Hill is quiet on the other end of the line.  Finally, she says, “Yeah, regular gig. Twice a week for at least the next six months.”

“I’ll take it,” Steve says.

“And the other jobs?”

“Pass,” Steve says.  “For now. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Are you still available for your regular types of engagements?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, unsure of why that makes him feel uneasy.

 

* * *

 

The anticipation Peggy feels when she walks toward the hotel room is different this time.  It’s thrilling, but also a little scary. She chooses not to explore that feeling too closely.  As usual, she hangs up her coat, and drops her bag, and then proceeds to the bedroom.

She has to bite back a smile when she sees Steve lounging on the bed again, sans shoes and shirt.  They had a good time last week, she’s curious to see how they can expand their repertoire.

“We meet again,” he says with a smile.  He seems less nervous this time, though every bit as eager.  

There’s a matching thrill of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.  “Indeed,” she replies, as cooly as she can manage. She shrugs out of her blazer and drapes it over the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.  She unbuttons the first few buttons of her black blouse, enough that he can see the black lace beneath. She watches him swallow thickly.

She turns away, so he won’t see her smile as she walks into the bathroom to retrieve a bath towel.  She folds it in half and then sets it over the cushions in one of the arm chairs near the windows. The heavy curtains are drawn, to keep out the cold of the D.C. winter, and the noise from the street below.

She faces Steve, watching him as she unzips her pencil skirt and lets it slide to the ground.  She steps out of it. She’s wearing stockings and a garter belt. She honestly cannot remember the last time she wore stockings.  That’s yet another thing she’s not going to examine too closely, but she thoroughly enjoys the way Steve’s eyebrows arch up. She planned this, like she plans everything in her life.  The panties are on over the garter belt, so she skims the panties down her legs and kicks them away. With rather more dramatic flourish than is required, she seats herself in the chair, hooking a leg over one of the upholstered arms.  

She looks at him expectantly.

Steve’s off the bed like a shot, kneeling before her.  He looks her up and down, taking it all in, obviously liking what he sees.  His hands circle her ankles, and slowly skim upward over her stockings. He bites back a curse when he gets to the garters.

“Enjoy the view?” she baits.

“It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he replies with undeniable honesty.  His erection is already tenting the front of his trousers.

Peggy shifts, rolling her hips more toward him, exposing herself to him more.  He makes a strangled noise, looking where she wants him to look, and his fingers bite into her thighs.

“I’d like you to kiss me there,” she says.  “Would you like that?”

He nods.  “Yes.” He looks up, his eyes locking with hers.  “But there’s something else I’d like more.”

Peggy immediately tenses, suddenly painfully aware of the difference in their respective sizes, the vulnerability in her position.  They had a good time last week, but it was only one time. She knows he lied about the scar. He’s ex-military.

After all the scrapes she’s survived, could this really be it?  Done in by her own libido? She forces herself to be calm when she asks, “What do you want?”

He blushes.  “Your name.”

Relief floods through Peggy.  She can’t help it, she smiles.  Did she really not tell him her name last time?  She licks her lips. “Peggy.”

He smiles in return.  “Peggy.” He blushes harder.  “Nice to meet you.”

She laughs.  She can’t help herself, she reaches out and cups his face in her hands, pulling him close.  Fuck. He’s as good of a kisser as she remembers. She knows for a fact that she never kissed Thor, not in the entire two years of their every-other-week arrangement.  She’s breaking her own self-imposed rules of conduct. That should scare her more than it does. She’s careful for many reasons.

Steve breaks off the kiss, making his way down down her body.  She runs her nails through his hair, scratching along his scalp, watching him shiver as he moves lower.  He pauses when he reaches his destination and she has the impression that oral isn’t exactly his forte. But, true to form, he’s attentive, and takes direction exceedingly well, even when she pulls his hair.  He doesn’t complain.

When she’s finally sated and shaking, he pushes himself back.  He’s still kneeling between her legs, his face damp. With her satisfied, he starts to stand up and move out of the way.  

She touches his forearm, stilling him.  “Get a condom.”

He nods, fumbling with his wallet.  He finds the condom, but drops the wallet on the floor.  He has to ease his zipper down rather gingerly, but then they roll the condom on.  With everything in place, he slides into her. He feels _so good_.

Peggy has paid for sex for years.  It’s better for everyone this way. She’s long past the naivete of thinking a woman in her line of work can have a real life.  She gave up on the idea of a home and family years ago. But she enjoys sex.

Peggy has learned the hard way that she’s dangerous to the people she cares about.  Hell, she doesn’t even have to care about them. She just has to be physically close to them.  After her lover in Berlin ended up dead, Peggy called Hill’s agency, on the referral from a colleague.  

Peggy is firmly convinced that contracting with the agency is one of the best decisions she’s ever made.  She appreciates the clarity, simplicity, and above, all, the discretion, of the arrangement. Money in exchange for completely anonymous sex.  It protects both Peggy and her partners. And it frees Peggy up to be ruthlessly selfish. She has never once felt guilty about getting off and sending him on his way - until now.  She’s not sure why she feels the need to be reciprocal with Steve. Maybe it’s just that the reciprocity is enjoyable for both of them.

She tightens around Steve and he groans her name, his hips snapping against hers.   _Fuck_.  Why does her name on his lips sound so good?  His talented fingers find her and she quickly reaches another hot peak.  He isn’t far behind.

She holds him for several minutes, studying the pattern of freckles on his shoulder as her fingers trail over the scar on his side.  They both catch their breaths.

Eventually, he pulls away and she lets him go, watching him walk into the bathroom and close the door.  She sits up in the chair, groaning. While the position was provocative in the moment, her hips do not thank her for her showmanship.  She kicks off the heels and unhooks the garters from the stockings before rolling them down her legs.

She sees Steve’s wallet, open on the floor.  Glancing at the closed bathroom door, she picks up the wallet and looks at it.  His driver’s license is the first thing she sees. His name really is Steve. He lives in an apartment in Alexandria - a shitty part of Alexandria.  There are no pictures, no significant other, no kids, no family. He does have a lot of rewards cards to various discount warehouses. He has an old military id, and a card for the VA.  Pretty standard for a vet. She already knew he was in the service, from the way he stands at attention. And the scar. It wasn’t from a car wreck. She’s seen enough shrapnel wounds to know the difference.

Steve also has business cards.  Apparently he’s an artist. She takes one of them.  She wonders what kind of art he does. Whatever it is, it’s obviously not lucrative enough for him to live on.

She puts the wallet back where she found it and pushes herself to her feet.  She finishes undressing just as Steve exits the bathroom. The fly of his trousers is unbuttoned.  He looks between her and the bed.

She walks past him into the bathroom and grabs a robe, wrapping it around herself.  She turns to face him. “I have a lot of work to do tonight.”

He looks at her for a long moment and then nods.  “Okay.”

She walks over to her blazer and takes out the envelope of cash, handing it to him.  He takes it, watching her intently the entire time. She finally has to turn away. She walks down the hall and retrieves her bag from the hall closet.  By the time she returns to the bedroom, he’s dressed.

He turns to the door and then stops.  He looks down at her. “See you Thursday, Peggy.”

She nods.  

Almost as if he’s trying to get it done before he can think better of it, he ducks his head and kisses her.  

She sucks in a sharp breath, but her hand instinctively comes up, cupping his jaw as she kisses him back.  She finally pulls away, nodding. “Thursday.”

 

* * *

 

Steve flops down onto Bucky’s crappy couch.  It’s the same crappy couch he’s been moving from apartment to apartment for years.  Steve spent several miserable months he’d rather not remember sleeping on the lumpy monstrosity.  He looks over at Buck. “You look good.”

“The fuck I do,” Bucky bites back.  “I look like I’m dying.”

Steve shrugs.  Truthfully, Bucky does look terrible, but he hardly looks like he’s dying.  Mostly he looks like he needs a good night’s sleep and a shower. “You’ve looked worse.”

Bucky blinks at him.  “Name one time.”

“The morning I had to spring you out of that jail cell in Tijuana.”

Bucky pales.  “Fuck,” he says quietly.  “That was awful.” He mutters something about a donkey show, and how he hopes Rumlow’s dick fell off.

Steve takes a drink of his beer.  “How are you really?”

“Dying,” Bucky says with a bitter frown.  “They’re poisoning me.”

“I thought that was chemo.”

He shrugs.  “They can call it what they want.  I wish they’d just let me die in peace.”

“Eh,” Steve says, knowing Bucky’s just being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic.  He loves to complain.  “I think Nat would prefer it if you quit whining and just got better.”

Buck looks over at him.  “Probably.”

“Are you going to?” Steve prods.

Bucky shrugs.  “Might as well,” he says with badly feigned nonchalance.  “I thought Nat would wise up and leave, but she bought an IKEA bookcase last week.  We assembled it. Together. She’s been getting rid of my old underwear.”

"You wear underwear?"

Bucky frowns.  "Jackass."  He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never been in a relationship this serious.”  He nods. “She gets me.”

“Good,” Steve says, well aware that despite Bucky’s pretense, his relationship with Natasha has never been casual.  The guy is head over heels in love.  And also probably scared out of his mind about the cancer. “Are you going to marry her?”

“While I’m dying?” Bucky asks incredulously.  “I know I’m a sorry son of a bitch, but I’d rather not end up a Facebook meme.”

“She has insurance, you asshole.”

“I’m pretty sure cancer counts as a pre-existing condition, Steve.”

“It sounded like she could get you coverage through her job that’s better than the shitty policy you have now,” Steve points out.  Buck’s always been a pain in the ass. Steve knows that his hesitancy to make things more official with Natasha isn’t because he’s concerned about insurance red tape or Facebook memes - neither of them are even on Facebook.  Steve knows Bucky is afraid of being a metaphorical weight around Natasha’s neck. Or more of one than he already considers himself. He doesn’t want to be a burden to her.

“Nat’s insurance shouldn’t be an issue at all,” Bucky snaps.  “The fucking VA should be covering my treatment. We all know that’s why I’m sick.  Who the fuck knows what all I was exposed to on those ops. They’re the ones responsible.  They should be paying.”

“You beat a Lieutenant General’s only son half to death in full view of most of the base,” Steve says wearily.  This is a very old argument. “When you’re dishonorably discharged, you don’t get VA coverage.”

Bucky groans, and then coughs.  The sound is horrible. He finally relaxes back against the recliner, looking at Steve, pinning him with his gaze.  “Where’d you get the money?”

“What money?”

“Don’t lie to me, Steve.  Nat covered for you, but it’s not like I have a list of people lining up to kick in for my meds.  I know it was you.”

“Jobs,” Steve says evasively.

“No bullshit,” Bucky presses.  “I need to know if you’re freelancing.  I don’t want that on my conscience. You got out.  I don’t want you back in because of me.”

Steve shakes his head.  “Nothing like that. I’m out.  You know I’m out. It’s my art.”

“Nobody buys your art,” Bucky says, frowning at him.

“It’s a corporate commission,” Steve says, returning the frown.  “Art for hotel rooms. It’s not exactly my dream job, but it pays really well.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced.

 

* * *

 

Natasha gives the waitress a bland smile as she sets the mug of tea in front of her.  They wait until she leaves, and then Natasha picks up the cup, wrapping her hands around it.  “Thanks for keeping him company. He’s been a real ray of sunshine lately.”

“No problem,” Steve says.  “Buck’s family.”

Natasha nods.  “Sorry if you haven’t seen him much recently.  We haven’t been out much since we moved in together.”

Steve shrugs.  “I’m happy for both of you.  I understand.”

Natasha looks at him so intently that Steve shifts in his seat.  Steve doesn’t know exactly how Natasha is employed, but he’d bet money on black ops, espionage.  Or at least she used to be. He has no idea what she does now. He’s met mercs like her before. She’s incredibly intelligent, and cuttingly perceptive.  He feels like a bug under a lens.

“Do you understand?” she asks, repeating his last statement.  “I didn’t think you were seeing anyone.”

“I mean in the general sense, I understand,” Steve says, trying to shift the conversation.  “I know how much Buck cares about you. You’re good for him. I wasn’t sure he’d ever find his way back from the edge after he was discharged.”

Natasha takes a drink of tea, but doesn’t respond the comments about her or Bucky.  “You were sketching when I walked in.”

Steve immediately looks at his bag, on the ground at his feet, where his sketchbook is packed away.  He had been sketching. There was an image he couldn’t get out of his mind. Of Peggy, naked, in bed.  He shakes his head. “Just working through a few ideas for a new piece.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow.  “Seemed more like you were working on something from memory.”

Steve knows he’s blushing and he knows anything he says is just going to get him in deeper, so he picks up his coffee and takes a drink.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Peggy cries, her fingernails digging into his back as she comes around him.  She’s still trembling as he lets himself go.

She gives him a minute to catch his breath and then pushes him off.  He rolls onto his back, watching as she turns onto her stomach, away from him.  She grabs her phone and starts scrolling through messages.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face.  Jesus. Peggy is, without a doubt, the sexiest woman he has ever seen, let alone been with.  There was more lingerie tonight. Red this time. He just ... _fuck_.  She absolutely knows how to push his buttons and he doesn’t even care how transparent he is.  She’s fucking amazing.

Sitting up, Steve turns his back to Peggy as he disposes of the condom.  Steve isn’t an idiot. He knows that entertaining thoughts like this about a client isn’t smart.  He knows the mantra, be respectful, be professional, don’t get emotionally involved. Keeping to the credo has never been an issue until now.  And it isn’t just the sex. It’s Peggy. He’d have the same problem if he was platonically escorting her to garden parties. Not that he can imagine Peggy at a garden party.  A boardroom, definitely. A courtroom. He wonders who she is when she’s outside the hotel rooms they share.

She pushes herself out of bed and goes to the bathroom, locking the door.  He hears the shower, and then the sound of her brushing her teeth. When she walks out of the bathroom, her hair is pulled back, all of her makeup is gone, and she’s wrapped in a robe.  

She tosses the envelope at him.  “I have to work.”

He picks up the envelope and taps it against his thigh.  He doesn’t miss how she looks at him. He’s still naked. She definitely has the upper hand in their arrangement, but he knows that he holds a certain appeal for her.  “I can stay,” he says, as casually as he can manage. “I’ll be quiet. Maybe I can help you sleep later.”

He can tell it’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him to get out, but her gaze rakes over him again.  She tightens the belt on her robe. “Fine,” she says. “But any noise and you’re gone.”

He nods.  “Yes, ma’am.”

She goes for her bag and gets her laptop, setting up at the small desk.  Steve mounds up the pillows and grabs his phone. He checks a few sports scores, and then goes back to the book he’s been reading off and on for the last month.

It’s probably an hour before Peggy relocates to the bed, with the laptop perched on her knees.  She’s obviously lost in her work, but she inches closer to him. Her feet are like ice. He does what he can to warm them up.

It’s almost two when she finally sets the laptop aside and looks at him.  “You’re still here.”

He nods.  “I am.”

She sighs dramatically, slipping out of her robe.  “Well, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He grins.  “Yes, ma’am.”

  


END CHAPTER


	3. Chapter 3

After a few false starts, winter eventually gives way to spring.  As far as Steve can tell, Buck is doing well. Natasha says his numbers are good, even if his attitude is shit.  Steve has a few paintings shown as part of a collective, but he doesn’t sell anything. He isn’t shocked. They’re still lifes.  Even he doesn’t particularly like them. They’re the only pieces he has ready.

The arrangement with Peggy is going strong.  Twice a week, he shows up a random hotel room of her choosing.  More often than not, he sleeps over, though she always kicks him out first thing in the morning.  

He’s getting to know her. She’s sexy as hell, which he already knew. She has a wicked sense of humor, and a surprising warmth.  He doubts few people get to see that side of her. He doesn’t see it often. But it’s there, under the surface.

She’s lonely. He knows that much.  He just wishes he knew why.

Steve still has the occasional engagement with his other clients.  Typically they don’t involve a lot of prep. They tend to be low stress.  He finds he’s beginning to appreciate the straightforward nature of those jobs.  They don’t tie him up in knots the way Peggy does.

“So who is she?” Sam asks as he leans against the tree, catching his breath.

Steve shakes his head.

“You won’t say, or you don’t know?” Sam pushes.

“Same difference to you,” Steve replies.

“Does she know that you’d do her for free at this point?”

Steve frowns.

Sam shakes his head.  “I’m not real clear on the sex worker code of conduct,” he says, “but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to fall for your client.”

“I never said I fell for her.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam replies.  “At my superbowl party, you didn’t even look at any of the girls.  You’re always too chickenshit to ask any of them out, but this time you didn’t even _look_.”

“I know you like bustin’ my balls,” Steve says, “but it’s my business.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy steps out of the uber and checks her phone.  She’s running late, as usual. The Baltimore traffic was worse than she anticipated.  She had planned to go back to the hotel room and finish the write up while it was all fresh.  Screw it. The notes can wait. She needs a drink.

The bar is busy.  It’s happy hour and the place is packed with beautiful young professionals.  Peggy takes a seat at the bar and orders a whiskey neat. Most of the people around her are engaged in conversation, which is just fine with her.  She checks her phone again, sends a few texts.

She is aware of a guy slotting himself into the space between her barstool and the next, brushing against her.  It's not exactly intentional, and not exactly an accident.  He orders a beer and stands there for a few minutes, making small talk with the bartender.

He finally turns.  She can tell he’s looking at her, though she doesn’t look at him.  “Can I buy you a drink?”

Without looking up, she holds up her glass.  “I already have one.”

He pauses a moment.  “Then maybe you could buy me one.”

She finally looks at him.  He has on a ballcap and a leather jacket.  Under the jacket, he’s wearing a henley that’s too tight.  The buttons are undone, revealing a lot of his chest. She can see a silver necklace resting against the paleness of his skin.  He’s attractive, though the whole look he’s got going on isn’t really her scene.

But it has been a shitty day.  Taking a deep breath, she says, “Why would I do that?”

He shrugs, smiling.  It reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.  His tight little shirt is the same shade of blue as his eyes.  “To be friendly.”

She narrows her eyes.  “I have enough friends.”

He frowns and his eyebrows draw together in what looks like genuine care.  “A person can always use more friends.”

 

* * *

 

She has no idea what the room is, but she pulls him inside and slams the door.  

“Did you break in?” he whispers, scandalized.

“Shut up,” she snaps, pushing him back against the wall, kissing him hard.

He groans, pulling her close, grabbing her ass, hitching her higher against his body.  She’s shoving at his stupid ballcap and coat. With a growl, he finally gets free of the coat.  It has to be an office, there’s a desk. He sets her on it, hiking her dress up while she’s trying to pull her panties down.  As soon as she’s bare, his fingers are there, rubbing her, while his lips capture her mouth, kissing her deeply.

She groans.  Fuck, he’s a good kisser.  She tugs his shirt up, running her hands over his chest.  Jesus christ, his body. She tugs him closer, fumbling with the fly of his jeans.  

Together, they manage to get the condom on him and then he’s driving into her, precisely the way she wants.  He rubs her as his hips move, whispering absolutely filthy things into her ear. It’s too much.

She tips over the edge, her fingernails digging into his back as she whimpers, “ _Steve_.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Peggy is in her hotel room, trying to concentrate on a series of emails, none of which are in English.  She really should have done that write up while it was fresh in her mind.

Steve is splayed out on the bed like a starfish, watching some ridiculous mixed martial arts match, and eating a truly grotesque platter of chili cheese fries that looks absolutely divine.

“I thought my name was Tim.”

She’s only half paying attention, reaching over to take one of his fries.  “Pardon?”

“Tim,” he says, still looking at the TV.  “I thought that was supposed to be my name tonight.  Tim the former frat boy.”

She rolls her eyes.  “That was your cover name.”  He would make the most abysmal spy on the planet.  This isn’t new information. She’s known that since she first saw him.  He can’t lie to save his life, and his internal monologue is pretty much written on his face.

“You called me Steve.”

“That's because that's your actual name,” she says dryly.

“I mean earlier,” he says, finally looking at her.  “You know, when you ... got off. In the office. Which, by the way, that was breaking and entering.”

She arches an eyebrow at him.  “Yes, well, I did the breaking, you did the entering, so I suppose we’re in this together.”

He blushes.  Clearing his throat, he changes the topic.  “You called me Steve.”

“I most certainly did not.”  She, on the other hand, excels at espionage.  She takes several more of his fries.

“You did,” he replies.

She glowers at him, mostly because she’s fairly certain he’s correct.  Goddammit. When was the last time she flubbed a cover? Even when it was just role playing for the sake of some fun?

 

* * *

 

Steve climbs into the passenger’s side of Bucky’s piece of shit truck.  Buck adjusts his stocking cap and then starts the truck. It takes a couple of tries.  The beast finally roars to life, and Bucky manages to wrangle it into gear.

“Why do you suddenly need to repair your backyard fence?” Steve asks.  Bucky’s lived in that crappy house for years and the piece of shit fence has never bothered him before.

Buck frowns, adjusting his cap.  Steve knows, without asking, that he doesn't want to talk about this.  “I’m getting a dog.”

Steve stares at him.  “ _You’re_ getting a dog?”  Steve distinctly remembers a conversation where Bucky explained to him that a fake plant was too much responsibility.

Bucky shrugs, his pale cheeks pinkening unexpectedly.  “Natasha’s getting - _We’re_ getting a dog.”

“Ohhh,” Steve says.

Bucky frowns at him, daring him to say something.  Steve just smiles and keeps his mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

Steve hears the door to the suite slam shut and almost immediately, Peggy yells, “What’s that smell?”

Without bothering to take off her coat, she stalks down the hall and goes straight for the pizza box on the small table.  She eats one piece standing there. When it’s gone, she finally manages to take off her coat, and kick off her shoes before she relocates the pizza box to the bed.

She holds the pizza box out to Steve and he takes a slice, mostly to be polite.  He bought it for her. He doesn’t know what’s going on with her job, but the last couple Tuesdays, she’s been in a pretty awful mood when she gets to the hotel.  He discovered the hard way that his charms aren’t nearly as effective as room service at lifting her mood. He has also noticed that her Tuesday outfits have been considerably tamer.  No less put together. She always looks impeccable. But there’s no lingerie, and the heels tend to be lower. He has the sense she is putting in some very long hours at work. Long enough that she apparently regularly skips dinner.

They sit on the bed together.  Steve watches the game, wearing a t-shirt and jeans.  Gone are the days of lounging around shirtless. They both know that if she wants him out of his clothes, all she has to do is say something.  In the meantime, he’d rather be comfortable. Peggy apparently feels the same way. Steve watches as she removes her bra without taking off her blouse, and then kicks off her dress pants.  She proceeds to eat half the pizza while scrolling through her phone.

Steve is engrossed in the game when she curls up against his side.  He looks down at her and she smiles up at him. He immediately reaches over and turns off the TV.

“Thanks for the pizza.”

“You’re welcome.”

She pushes him back on the bed, and then straddles him, looking down at him.  Instinctively, his hands rest against her thighs, feeling the softness of her skin.  

“It’s been quite a while since I ordered delivery pizza,” she tells him conspiratorially.  “I’m not quite sure what an appropriate tip would be.”

He grins at her, rolling his hips under her.  “I’m sure we can think of something.”

She laughs and leans down, kissing him.  

He cherishes these moments, when she’s soft and playful.  Not that he doesn’t like the other things they do. But this feels different.  This feels special, like what’s between them matters. Like the fact that it’s _him_ matters, and not just some random contact from the agency.

 

* * *

 

Steve shows up on Thursday, as usual.  He’s always there before Peggy. But he ends up watching the better part of some stupid Lifetime movie before he realizes she hasn’t shown yet.  Her schedule is erratic and he doesn’t think too much of it until there’s a knock.

Cautiously, he opens the door.  There’s a courier outside, with an envelope.  Steve takes it back in the room. It’s the usual cash payment amount and a note.

_Out of town. Not sure how long. Will contact agency when back.  Room is already paid up._

Steve doesn’t like the hollow feeling he gets in his gut when he reads the note, but there isn’t anything he can do about it.  He has no idea where she might be. He has no idea if she’s in some kind of trouble, or just on a business trip.

He knows her last name is Carter.  He hasn’t eavesdropped, but she gets enough calls, and she scrolls through her email all the time.  He’s seen her name, Margaret Carter. He’s pretty sure she’s with some government agency. His half assed googling didn’t turn up much, and he’s afraid to go digging too far.  Discretion is what he’s paid for. Plus, if she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

There’s no reason for him to stay at the hotel.  He has a perfectly good bed back at his studio. But on the off chance that Peggy’s plans change and she can make it, he stays the night.

Peggy doesn’t show.  

Steve heads out at first light.  Alone.

 

* * *

 

Steve parks his bike and stands outside Bucky’s house for several minutes.  It’s been a shitty couple of weeks. Steve still has no idea where Peggy is.  According to Hill, she hasn’t heard anything from her either. Steve tried putting his restless energy into his art, but nothing is coming together for him.

And now Bucky wants to talk.

Last Steve knew, things were going well.  He’s dreading this conversation. Buck is his best friend.  If anything happens to him -

Taking a deep breath, Steve forces himself to head to the door.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve been here for half an hour,” Steve finally snaps.  “What the hell did you want to tell me?”

Bucky frowns at him.  He actually doesn’t look bad.  His eyebrows have grown back in.  He scratches at the cap he wears, looking uneasy.  “I’m going to ask Nat to marry me.”

Steve blinks at him.  “Oh.”

“ _Oh?_ ” Bucky snaps.  “That’s all you have to say?  I tell you I’m going to propose and all you have is ‘ _oh_ ’?”

Steve sighs.  “I was expecting ... worse.”

“What do you mean worse?” Bucky demands, looking like his life is hanging by a thread.

“I thought you were going to tell me you’re dying.”

“We’re all dying, Steve.”

“ _Jesus,”_ Steve curses.  “I mean imminently, you jerk.”

Bucky shakes his head.  He leans down to give the dog a scratch.  “Docs say I’m doing great.”

Steve relaxes.  “That is good news.”

Bucky waves him off.  “I’m serious, Steve. I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“ _Natasha,_ ” Bucky says, exasperated.  “What if she says no?”

Steve has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.  “She put together an IKEA bookcase with you and she’s still here.  You guys just got a dog together. I realize that for some women these might seem like normal things, but Natasha’s different.  She’s not going to say no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Bucky texts.

_She said yes._

Steve can’t help himself.

_I told you so._

 

* * *

 

Steve stares at the canvas.  He needs to paint something. Anything.  He promised Ali he’d have something ready for the show he’s putting together in the fall, but at this rate, that isn’t going to happen.

Steve didn’t bother looking at his sketchbook.  It’s filled with nothing but Peggy.

Damn.

It’s been six weeks and he hasn’t heard a word.  He wonders if she’s gone from his life as quickly as she entered it.  He hopes like hell not. He hopes she’s okay, wherever she is. He knows she can take care of herself, but it doesn’t stop him worrying.

Steve has been working with his regular clients.  He’s even picking up a new one here and there. It’s getting to be wedding and class reunion season.  Those are always busy times for him. A lot of one-off clients who just want a date for the night.

Steve can make ends meet, and he still has quite a bit left in the bank.  Like Bucky told him, he’s doing better. And something came through with his health coverage.  Steve suspects Natasha is behind it somehow, but the VA found some loophole and are now covering his treatment.  If everything stays on target, Buck won’t have to do any more chemo or radiation.

Steve looks at the canvas and realizes he’s sketched a rough outline of a reclining female figure.  

_Fuck._

 

END CHAPTER


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha leans down and kisses Bucky with a wholly inappropriate amount of tongue for a family establishment.  Steve looks away. It’s an unofficial engagement party. And Buck just got more good news from the doctors. So Steve doesn’t begrudge his friends the desire to celebrate.  Plus, it's getting pretty late. They’ve all been drinking steadily for hours.

Quite a few guys from their old unit made it to the party.  Dugan, Morita, Jones, and Denier are all present and accounted for.  Most of them have dates - everyone except Dugan. Natasha’s friend, Wanda, and her very odd significant other, Jarvis, made it as well.  Until they showed up, Steve wasn't aware Natasha had friends.  It raises more questions than it answers.  Then there’s Scott, who Bucky apparently met in rehab. Steve had to clarify he meant physical rehab. Scott’s weird.

Sam brought a few friends, Val, who is Sam’s date, and Jessica, who Steve is pretty certain Sam is trying to set him up with.  Jessica’s very attractive, but she seems ... mean. Vicious even, perhaps. And Steve is damn sure she’s only there for the free drinks.  He can see it when she looks at him. She thinks he’s a total heel. It’s like she gets a headache every time she looks at him.  Steve wonders just how bad Sam's assessment is of Steve's current love life, if he thinks that Jessica is viable girlfriend material.  Steve knows he's been living a pretty solitary life lately, but he hadn't realized it looks that bad from the outside.  He misses Peggy like hell, but he thought he had his emotions under wraps.  Apparently not.

Steve’s phone rings.  He doesn’t recognize the number, but he’s desperate to get away from Sam’s matchmaking attempts.  He heads over to the coat check, where it’s marginally quieter. “Yeah?”

There’s no one on the line, but he tries again anyway.  “Hello?”

He’s about to hang up when he hears, “Steve?”

His mouth instantly goes dry.  “Peggy?”

She takes a shaky breath.  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, Peggy, wait,” he says, desperate to keep her on the line.  “It’s okay. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

She laughs, but it sounds offbalance.  Maybe it’s just the connection. “I’m fine,” she says, “I’m just - “  He hears her take a deep breath and force it out sharply. “I’m in town.  Do you want to get a drink?”

“Tell me where to meet you.”

She gives him an address.  It’s only a couple of blocks away.   

“I know where that is.  Stay there. I’ll be right there.  Just hold tight.”

Steve grabs his jacket, waves to Sam, and heads for the door.  He’s at the bar in under ten minutes. It’s a bit of a dive, dark and off the beaten path.  In the dim interior, it takes him a while to find her, seated at a booth in the back.

He takes a chance, sliding onto the bench next to her, crowding her.  She called him directly, rather than going through the agency. He doesn’t know how she got his number, or how long she’s had it.  This isn’t a business interaction. This is personal.

She looks at him for a long moment, and then leans in.  He meets her halfway, burying his fingers in her hair, holding her close as their tongues tangle.  Her hand is fisted in the material of his shirt, pulling him closer.

When they finally break apart, they’re both breathing hard.  She laughs with obvious relief. “Do you still want that drink?”

“No,” he says seriously.  “I want to get the hell out of here asap.  I want to take you home with me.   _Now_. I missed you.”

 

* * *

 

Steve doesn’t know if Peggy has a car with her or not.  He doesn’t even ask. He's not about to let her out of his sight, even for a few minutes. 

He twines his fingers with hers and they walk out to the bike together.  The dress she’s wearing is short, but she doesn’t complain as she climbs on and wraps herself around him.

It doesn’t take long to get to his place and he doesn’t turn on the lights.  The second the door is closed, she’s tugging his shirt over his head and reaching for the buckle of his belt.  He hikes up her skirt and pulls her panties down.

He groans as she takes him in hand, stroking him. “ _Peggy._ ”

He notches her leg against his hip and she guides him where she wants him, and then they’re moving together.  He worries her earlobe with his teeth, and whispers to her how much he missed her, how he thought of her when she was gone.  His fingers stroke her lightly and her nails dig into his shoulders as she comes apart in his arms. He sees her through it, and then pulls out with a groan.  He’s too close. Peggy is immediately on her knees, taking him in her mouth and he’s lost, groaning her name as his world explodes.

 

* * *

 

They finally make it to the bed.  Steve never bothered to turn on any lights.  It’s better that way. His place is a mess and he can’t remember the last time he changed the sheets.  It’s a far cry from their usual rendezvous locations.

Steve is on his back, with Peggy tucked against his side.  Her fingers are gently tracing the edge of his scar.

“How long have you been back?” he asks.

She’s quiet for a long time.  “It’s not that simple.”

There’s an icy fear in the center of his chest.  “Are you married?”

She laughs, low and husky.  “No. Nothing like that.”

He rolls over, so they’re face to face.  There’s a street lamp outside that provides just enough illumination to make out her features.  “You weren’t planning on seeing me again, were you?”

She reaches out and traces her hand along his jaw.  She takes a deep breath, frowning. “Breaking things off wasn’t my plan.  Not at first.  But the longer I was away, the more prudent it seemed. You’ve become a liability.”

He swallows thickly.  “Why is that?”

She rolls onto her back, staring blindly up at the ceiling.  She doesn’t answer.

“I went a little crazy,” he admits, “thinking I’d never see you again.”  He scrubs his hand over his face. “I know I’m not supposed to say that. I know this is supposed to be a business transaction.  But the way I feel about you isn’t professional.  It hasn't been for a very long time.”

She looks at him.

“Is that why I’m a liability?”

She shakes her head.  “No,” she says flatly.  “Your feelings on the matter are quite irrelevant.”

He ignores the sting and considers her words.  “So I’m a liability because _you_ care.”

She gives him a pleading look.  “I can’t say the words you want me to say, Steve. I wish I could, but it’s not an option.  There are very good reasons why I guard my privacy so closely.  I won't see you come to harm because of me.  There's too much collateral damage in my life.”

“I’m pretty good at taking care of myself,” he tells her.  “I was in the service.”

“Oh, trust me, Captain Rogers, I am well aware of your service record.”  Her gaze drops to the scar on his side. Her fingers trail over it. “It was a miracle you survived.  You might not be so lucky a second time.”

He frowns.  Just how much does she know about him?  “Who are you?”

She shakes her head and leans over, kissing him.  “Stop asking me questions and make love to me.”

To his own irritation, Steve does as she asks.

 

* * *

 

Peggy knew it was a mistake to contact Steve again.  She made a clean break - however unintentional. And with sufficient distance from him, she was able to see just how reckless she had become.  She can’t afford human connection. And regardless of what Steve thinks, he can’t afford it either.

As Peggy told him, she is quite familiar with his service record.  She knows what he’s capable of. She knows he is no innocent bystander.  But she also knows how very close he came to losing his life out there. He saved the men in his unit, but barely pulled through himself.  When he recovered, he chose to leave that life behind. He is creating a new life for himself.  She can’t drag him back into her darkness.

But last night, she was so lonely.  And horny. But mostly lonely. She went so far as to call the agency for a new referral, but she never made it to the hotel.  She couldn’t. Her desire wasn’t aimless. She didn’t want a warm body. She wanted _Steve_.  And now all she’s done is complicate matters.

She attempts to slip out of the bed, but his arm immediately bands around her waist, pinning her to him.  

“You’re not sneaking out before dawn like a coward,” he says shortly.

She sighs, both irritated and embarrassed.  “Fine,” she snaps.  “You make coffee while I shower.”

The shower is gross.  She suspects he never cleans it.  She showers with her eyes closed, and is forced to use his shampoo.  The definite downside to that is now she smells like him.  It makes her heart ache, even with him in the other room.  By the time she's dried off, she has herself under control again. 

She finds her underwear in the hallway, but abandons the dress.  It has been far too many years to mention since Peggy last took a walk of shame.  She’s not about to break that record now. The dress which was sufficiently provocative last night, looks patently absurd by the light of morning.

She rummages through Steve's clothes, finding a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that will do.  It’s not difficult to locate his clothes. All of his things are just scattered about with no apparent rhyme or reason.  At least they're reasonably clean.  Though they smell like him too.  Dammit.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve looks her outfit over, frowning as he hands her the coffee.

“Your apartment is disgusting,” she informs him.

“I know,” he says, embarrassed.  “Though if you’d let me know to expect company, I would have picked up.”

“Touche.”

They sip their coffees in broody silence for several minutes.

Steve is finally the one to crack.  “I want to see you again. And I want a way to get in touch with you.”  

“We have a business relationship.”  It’s a ridiculously weak argument, and she knows it.

“We _used to have_ a business relationship,” he replies.  “Last night changed all of that and you know it.”  He drags a hand through his hair. “Peggy, I want this.  And you want it too.”

“What I want and what I can have are often two entirely different things,” she replies tautly.  “Continuing to see each other is a terrible idea. I’m merely being practical.”

He sets his coffee cup down and advances on her.  “Practical?  You’re so damn practical that you pay someone to keep you company.  You're so practical that after you decided to ditch me, you called me anyway in a moment of weakness.  That’s not practical, it’s pointlessly making both of us miserable.”

“Fine then,” she replies acidly, “not practical.  Pathetic. But it's still better than seeing you dead on my account.”  She pushes past him, slamming her coffee down on the counter.

He follows her.  “Peggy, that’s not what I meant.”

She rounds on him, irate.  “It might as well be what you meant,” she snaps.  “But it’s the truth. I don’t have any human connections.  They’re too costly. People end up dead. So I pay strangers to service me.  No one can connect them to me. They have no idea who I am. It works out for the best.  Trust me, Captain, you can be replaced.”

Steve’s brow is furrowed and she can see the muscles in his jaw jumping.  “You don’t mean that.”

“I assure you, I do.”

Steve looks outraged, searching for words.  Finally, he yells, “I love you!” 

The outburst shocks both Steve and Peggy into still silence.  The only sound is the labored sound of their breathing.

Peggy opens her mouth and then closes it again.  She frowns at him, shaking her head. “Pardon?”

Steve swallows thickly, and carefully says, “I’m in love with you, Peggy.”

Peggy has to blink against her suddenly blurry vision.  “I don’t - “ She holds up her hands. “I don’t - “

Steve takes a step toward her, then another.  He reaches out, touching her lightly at the waist.  “Peggy.”

She shakes her head, feeling the tears on her cheeks.  Why the fuck is she crying? He’s the one with the feelings.

Slowly, he ducks his head, pressing his lips to hers.  She sobs, but kisses him back, pulling him down to her.  Together, they somehow manage to stumble their way back to his bed.  They tear at one another’s clothes, kissing and biting.

She takes him in hand, stroking him, and then sinks down on him, moaning at the feel of him inside her.  He hisses her name, using his hands on her hips to get her moving.  They move together, rolling across the bed, ending up with Steve on top.  Peggy digs her fingernails into his back, hearing him hiss.  He doesn’t ask her to stop, he just buries his face against her neck as he continues to drive into her.  

She wants to mark him in some indelible way, to brand him as forever hers.  The thought of him with another client makes her homicidal. He’s _hers_.  Only hers.  And he’s finally back where he belongs.  She tightens around him, shivering in his arms as her climax washes through her.

He groans her name, nipping along her jaw.  He starts with withdraw and she tightens her legs around his waist.  “No,” she says, breathless, her fingernails biting into his back again.  “Don’t leave. Finish inside me.”

He makes a strangled noise and drives into her once, twice, and then goes still.  Moments later, he rolls onto his side with a groan, pulling her with him. He cups her jaw in his hand, kissing her tenderly.  “I love you, Peggy.”

She falls asleep in Steve’s arms, feeling something terrifyingly close to contentment.

 

* * *

 

It’s late morning when they wake. They make love again.  She hates herself for thinking of it that way, even in her head.  But that’s what it is.

She showers again.  This time, Steve joins her.  

When they’re dressed, he takes her to get her car.  She follows him back to his apartment. It’s converted industrial space, set up as a studio apartment, emphasis on the studio.  Peggy thinks it’s one step above squatting in an abandoned building. He has room for his paintings, but that’s about the only thing the space has going for it.  She can’t imagine what his heating and cooling bills must be. And aside from the paintings the place is as spartan as if he was still living in military barracks.  She hates the way that pulls at her heart.

Peggy grabs the backpack out of her trunk.  There are several changes of clothes. She finds something marginally more presentable than Steve’s sweatpants. For lunch, they hit up a hole in the wall where everybody knows Steve.  The food is good. The company is better.

Steve has always been attentive, but the way he watches her is unnerving, like if he looks away for a second, she’ll disappear in a puff of smoke.  They both know it’s inevitable.

The day is beautiful and they decide to take a ride on Steve’s bike.  Peggy loves wrapping her arms around him, holding on tight.  For a little while, it feels like it's just the two of them.

They end up back at his place.  In bed. Again. It can’t last, but she intends to make the most of it while she can.

 

* * *

 

It’s near dawn when Peggy wakes.  Steve’s asleep, face down, his head buried in his pillow, one of his arms wrapped around her waist.  She reaches over and scratches her nails along his scalp. He wakes quickly, sucking in a deep breath as he turns to look at her.  When he sees she’s awake, he doesn’t say anything, he simply pulls her close and kisses her.

They make love slowly, carefully, thoroughly.  Neither of them speak. They don’t have to. All their words are used up and neither of them are going to change their minds.

Afterward, she holds him until she can’t any longer.  She sits up, staring blindly at the far wall.

“Please don’t do this,” he says.

Shaking her head, she pushes herself out of bed.

 

END CHAPTER


	5. Chapter 5

“People pay to go out with you looking like that?” Sam asks over the din of the various TVs in the packed sports bar.

“What?” Steve replies, finishing the last of his beer and motioning to the bartender for another.  He looks at Sam. “It’s a mustache.”

“Oh, I know what it is,” Sam says warily.  “I just can’t believe anybody would want to be seen in public with you looking like a reject from a seventies porno.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but then admits, “I’ll shave before my next job.”

Sam smiles but his demeanor sobers and he leans in closer.  “How are you?”

“Great,” Steve says dryly.

“Really? Because tragic facial hair aside, you look like shit.  I saw Barnes the other day. He’s lookin’ better than you right now.”

Steve just looks at Sam.  He has no idea what to say.  Truth is, he feels dead inside most days.  He shakes his head.

“She’s gone then, huh?”

Steve nods.

“How long has it been?”

Steve takes another drink.  “Four months. She’s not coming back.”  He shrugs. “She told me when she left that I wouldn’t see her again.  I just - “ He sighs. “I hoped she’d change her mind.”

“Have you tried to find her?”

“She doesn’t want to be found.  It’s why she used the agency in the first place.”

“Ah,” Sam says. “I seem to remember you’re a halfway decent tracker.  And you’ve got connections. I’m sure Natasha knows someone, who knows someone, who could help you.  You too proud to chase her?”

Steve looks over at him.  “No, I am not too proud to chase her.  It’s just, I don’t want to ...” He trails off, unsure of how much to say.  “I don’t want to create problems for her.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Sam says.

Steve knows Sam has the wrong idea, but he doesn’t bother to correct him.  The truth is, Steve would love nothing more than to run Peggy to ground. But he has a pretty good idea of what her job entails, of what she’s trying to protect him from.  And while he doesn’t feel any need to be protected, he also doesn’t want to risk compromising her in any way. He understands that people in her line of work survive by compartmentalizing.  If she can’t do that, she really will be in danger.

So he’s stuck.  Doing nothing. 

He hates it more than he’s ever hated anything.

And the gym just canceled his membership for ruining another punching bag.

 

* * *

 

“I have some lucrative offers,” Hill says.

“Not interested,” Steve says.

Hill makes an irritated noise.  “Fine,” she says. “I’m in a tight spot.  I need someone for a job this weekend. Your kind of stuff.  One time engagement. Escort to a private party being hosted downtown.  You’ll have to do some prep work for your cover. And you absolutely have to shave, shower, and ditch the attitude.”

Steve flips the bird at his phone.  Not that Maria can see it. “Fine,” he says.  “Send me the information.” He’s not actually interested in the job.  But he’s about to die from boredom. And he’d rather not sit around his apartment staring at blank canvases.  He has two weeks to get something to Ali, and so far all he has is a nude of Peggy. Not that you can tell it’s her.  But Steve knows. Jerking off to his own painting is an all time low, but Steve doesn’t even give a shit anymore.

Hill has the info couriered over within the hour.  Steve looks through it. It’s some kind of private reception.  Governmental. High security. His cover is as some low level bureaucrat at State.  His date’s name is Dottie Underwood. There’s not much information about her. She’s some sort of socialite.  Is that still a thing? 

The whole job feels a little weird, but honestly, Steve’s in the mood for a little weird.  At least it will be a change of pace from the soul crushing loneliness and boredom.

 

* * *

 

Dottie Underwood is not her real name.  Steve knows that the second he meets her.  He doesn’t know who she is, or what her story is, but he knows every word out of her mouth is a lie.

Does he care?

Eh.  Not really.  He still gets paid whether she tells the truth or not.

What Steve is feeling, is a combination of bored and reckless.  In the military that would have either gotten him a commendation, or dead.  Here, in civilian life, he’s not sure what it might get him. But he’s going to enjoy the ride.  Per Hill’s edict, he shaved and showered. He’s wearing the prescribed monkey suit and uncomfortable shoes.  There better be an open bar.

In the car, Dottie gives him fake credentials.  Steve looks at them. He’s not a forger, but they look good.  He hopes like hell he doesn’t end up getting arrested. As far as he knows, all they’re doing is going to a party.  Surely he couldn’t get arrested for that. Unlawful consumption of appetizers? Seems unlikely.

Security is tight.  Steve tries not to sweat it, but they give the fake ids a thorough review.  Luckily they hold up. Steve still has no idea what the reception is for. Dottie is vague, and unlike most of his clients, she seems to view him as some sort of regrettable, but necessary, accessory for the evening.  She doesn’t want to chat, and she keeps her arm locked through his only so she can strongarm him around the party.

Steve spends most of the evening snagging canapés off the trays of passing servers, much to Dottie’s irritation.  He just smiles and plays dumb. The hors d'oeuvres are surprisingly good. Definitely the highlight of the evening.  Also, if Steve has his mouth full, he’s spared having to make conversation as she drags him from person to person, making introductions.  He doesn’t miss that her accent and affectations change, depending on who they’re speaking to. He finally figures out they’re at a retirement party for some old guy.  As far as Steve knows, they haven’t met the guest of honor. He’s rather hoping they don’t.

Steve is halfway through his third rum and Coke when Dottie informs him she has to go to the ladies.  He nods and waits by a column. He finishes his drink and snags a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing server.  He downs that as well. 

He’s just stashed the empty glass behind a potted plant when he realizes that he’s surrounded by guys in suits.  “Fellas.”

“Mr. Graves,” one of them says.

It takes Steve a moment to realize that’s his fake name for the evening.  “Uh, yeah.”

“Please come with us.”

 

* * *

 

Steve has no idea what’s going on, but he knows he’s in trouble.  He probably shouldn’t have had quite so much to drink. They take him through the kitchens and outside into a waiting van.  All of the men are armed. They take a long drive, and eventually pull into some anonymous underground garage. They herd him into an elevator.  No one speaks. He ends up in an interrogation room, handcuffed to the table.

Steve doesn’t say anything, other than to ask for a lawyer.  He doesn’t get the impression that’s really an option. 

They make it clear they know who he really is, and that they’re very interested in his date.

_ Shit _ .

 

* * *

 

“She’s in custody,” Peggy says, pinning Fury with a stare.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies evenly.  “We would have been spared the rooftop chase if you’d followed my recommendations for the security.  We also apprehended her date.”

Peggy rolls her eyes, but follows Nick down the hall to the interrogation room.  There aren’t any lights in the observation room, but the interrogation room, on the other side of the two-way glass, is blindingly bright.  The suspect is handcuffed to the table. According to what Nick said, there was no scuffle bringing him in, which makes her think he’s not part of this.

Peggy’s heart catches in her throat when she sees the suspect.   _ Fuck _ .  “He was with her?”

“Yeah,” Fury says, but he doesn’t sound too excited.  “We’re pretty sure he’s just a stooge. He’s ex-military, but from what we’ve found, it looks like he works for a local escort service.  We don’t think he had any idea who she is. We’ll turn him inside out, just to make sure.”

Peggy reaches over and kills all of the recording devices, both in the room where she and Nick are, and in the interrogation room.  She shakes her head. “Cut him loose. Get rid of any record of him. I’ll deal with it.”

Fury’s brow furrows.  “Director - “

“Now,” she snaps.

 

* * *

 

Steve still has no idea what’s going on.  No lawyer ever showed. They take him out of the interrogation room, throw him back in the van, and then unceremoniously dump him a mile and a half from his apartment.  

Also, they took his wallet, phone, and keys.

Sighing, Steve starts walking toward his apartment.  It’s cold out and these shoes suck. Fuck them. They could have dropped him at his apartment.  Clearly, they know where he lives. They were just being dicks.

The walk is longer than he would like and mindnumbingly uneventful.  His grand plan, such as it is, is to break into his own place. He’s never going to get that security deposit back.  He’s staring up at one of his windows when her voice breaks his concentration. 

“Maybe you should just use the key.”

He spins around.  “ _ Peggy _ .”

She’s standing there, bundled in a jacket, holding his things out toward him.  Her expression is somewhat sheepish.

For a long moment, all he can do is stare at her.  She looks great, like she just came from the same party - but he didn’t see her there.  Her hair is pinned up. She’s wearing a dress and heels, though he can’t see much of dress because of the jacket.

Slowly, he closes the distance between them and takes his things, shoving his wallet and phone in his pockets.  He looks at her.  She doesn’t want to meet his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath.  “I assume that my being a guest of the government tonight had something to do with you.”

She finally looks up at him.  “Your date crashed my predecessor’s retirement party,” she says.  “She’s a very dangerous person.”

Steve nods.  He knows that information should scare him, but it doesn’t.  Nothing could scare him right now.  He's too happy to see her.

Peggy looks away.  Her eyes are too shiny.  “She could have killed you, Steve.  She would have. As a game. Simply to prove that she can get at me.”

He steps closer, invading Peggy's personal space.  “But she didn’t.”

Peggy looks up at him, clearly irritated with him.  “They say god protects children and idiots.”

He smiles at her.

She shakes her head and takes a step back, away from him.  Steve stays where he is, looking at her. He thinks back to the party.  He shoves his hands in his pockets. “So, I know I’m not the most observant guy ever, but that sure as hell seemed like a reception for some pencil pusher.”

She looks at him through narrowed eyes.

“Your predecessor didn’t do a lot of field work, did he?” Steve asks.  He toes at some rocks with what he hopes looks like nonchalance. “Which probably means that whatever it is you had been doing, you’re not going to be doing much longer.  You’re going to have a desk job.”

“That doesn’t mean that it’s any safer,” she says quietly.  “And I’m already taking incredible risks.”

“Like what?” he challenges.

She takes a deep breath and blinks quickly, shaking her head.  

“At least come inside and talk to me,” he says, motioning to the door.

“You’re not safe here,” she says.  “She knows who you are, where you live, where you work.  We found photos, videos. She’s been watching you for weeks.”

Steve shrugs.  “I bet you can keep me safe tonight.”

She rolls her eyes, but he can tell she’s pleased.  Also, he figures her goon squad must have swept his apartment while he was walking home.  There probably aren’t any explosives or assassins lurking. 

She sighs and he knows he’s won.  He reaches out and she puts her hand in his, letting him pull her toward the door.

 

* * *

 

As Steve unlocks the door, he says, “I didn’t get real up close and personal with my date, but I’m pretty sure you could take her.”

“She’s in custody,” Peggy says dryly.  “And you’re an idiot. You’re going to have to move.  And you’re going to have to stop working for Hill. There’s no telling who may have information on you at this point.”

“A new place, and a new job?  That seems extreme.  It wasn’t a great date, but I’m not sure it was so bad I need witness protection.”

“I’m not kidding, Steve,” she says, frustrated.

“See, now,” he says, as he turns on the light, “when you say things like that, it sounds like you care.”

She looks up at him, pained that he could think otherwise.  “Of course I care.”

He looks down at her, his expression deathly serious.  “Do you? Because you walked out of here four months ago and I haven’t had so much as a dirty text from you.”

She looks away.  “It’s complicated, Steve.”

“Of course it’s complicated,” he says wearily.  “It’s life. That’s how it is. But I love you, and you left me.”

She starts to say something and then stops.  She looks at him. He looks miserable. She should have stayed away.  She knew. She knew that he was getting attached. She was too, even if she couldn’t admit it.  She should have stopped it then. But she was too weak to walk away when she should have. And now they have nothing but a huge mess on their hands.

He takes a breath and she can almost feel him searching for another argument, another way to try and convince her.  “Peggy, if you're taking that old guy's job, then you’re going to be out of the field. You’re going to be a riding a desk. I don’t doubt that what you do is important, and dangerous, but I’m not scared.”

“I'm scared,” she says, shocking herself.  She presses her hand to her mouth. Blasted hormones.  She blinks quickly, composing herself. Taking a deep breath, she says, “I am Steve.  I’m terrified. And I need your help.”

“Of course,” he says, stepping closer, taking her hand.  “Anything you need. What is it?”

She looks up at him.  Now or never. “I’m pregnant.”

For several moments, there’s no discernable reaction on his features.  Then his brow furrows. “I, uh - “ He stops. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, his lips moving as he tries to form words.

She gives him a withering look.  “It’s yours.”

He nods.  "I knew that."  She has the impression he’s trying desperately to school his features into impassivity.  “How do you feel about that?”

“How do I feel?” she snaps.  “I’m about to lose my damn mind.  What I do is dangerous. I could quite possibly leave this child an orphan.  Or worse.”

Steve’s lips purse together as he frowns.  He takes a deep breath as realization seems to dawn across his features.  

“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” he says, his voice sad, and filled with resignation.  “You and the baby were going to live your lives without me any the wiser, but you’ve realized that you need a contingency plan.”

She looks at him and almost starts crying again.  “What do you want me to say?” she asks, hating how reedy her voice sounds. “That I was thrilled when I realized we’d had an accident?  I wasn’t. I was horrified at my stupidity. I knew the rational thing would be to get rid of it, but I - “ 

She looks at his face, at the pain there, and something inside of her softens.  “But I couldn’t,” she admits quietly. “I wanted it. So when they offered me the Director position again, I took it.  You’re right, it’s a desk job. It’s not field work. But it’s still dangerous. And especially after tonight, there’s no question that there are certain factions out there that will target the people close to me.”  

She shakes her head.  “It’s bad enough when it’s you being targeted, Steve.  But what if they go after - “ she stops, her throat tight.  She can’t even say the words. Her eyes burn.  “What if they - “

Steve takes a deep breath, and reaches out, pulling her close.  She lets him wrap his arms around her as she buries her face against the solid wall of his chest.  “I got your back,” he whispers against her ear. “Both of you. Nobody is going to hurt either of you.”

She knows that there’s no way he can make that promise, but the knowledge doesn’t stop her from feeling better.  With a sniffle, she finally pulls away, looking up at him. “I thought I could do this alone,” she says. “But I saw you tonight.”  She shakes her head and wipes at her wet cheeks. “You’re already part of this, even though I’ve tried to keep you out. You needed to know.”

He puts his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath, exhaling sharply.  “I want to be part of this,” he says, deathly serious. “But I also want  _ us.” _

She shakes her head.  “I can’t do that, Steve.  Not right now.” She wraps her arms around herself.  “But I don’t want to keep you out of your child’s life.”

He huffs in irritation and drags a hand through his hair.  She knows that’s not the answer he wants, but it’s the only answer she has right now.  Finally, he nods. “Of course I want to be part of his or her life.”

Peggy feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, even though she knows a whole new set of problems will soon rise to take its place.  She finally looks around his apartment. Jesus, if she thought it was bad before, it’s terrible now. She looks at the canvas on the far side of the room.  Fucking hell. It’s her. She shakes her head, turning to look at him. “You can’t stay here. I’m serious. You have to move.”

He shrugs.  “I don’t have anywhere to go.  Bucky and Nat are remodeling. Sam’s practically living with Val.”  He shakes his head. “I mean, if you want, I can give the agency a call and see if Hill has anybody looking for an overnight guest to - “

“No,” Peggy snaps, frowning at him.  She shakes her head. “You can stay with me.  Temporarily. Until we can find something for you.”

He smiles.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she warns.  “It’s very temporary. And if you trash my place, you’re out on your ear.”

 

* * *

 

Steve packs a half dozen bags.  The rest of the stuff will either be moved tomorrow, or put into storage.  He puts the bags in her car, and follows her to her place. It’s not close.  She lives in a very expensive condo in a very expensive part of town. Top notch security.

Peggy called her housekeeper and had her make up one of the spare rooms before she left for the night.  Steve puts his stuff in the room. Peggy doesn’t miss how he looks around at the place. 

It’s jarring to see him in her personal space.  She never imagined these two disparate parts of her life converging.

It’s really late, and Peggy says, “I’m heading for bed.  Sleep well.”

Steve looks her over critically, nodding.  “‘Night.”

 

END CHAPTER

 


	6. Chapter 6

Steve is already up when Peggy gets up the next morning.  It’s not lost on her that this is pretty much the polar opposite of the dynamic they’ve shared for the duration of their relationship.  As she walks into the kitchen, he points at her with his cup. “Coffee?”

She shakes her head, making a face.  “I can’t.”

His brow furrows.  “Doctor’s orders?”

“Uh, no,” she says.  “A lot of pregnant women stop drinking caffeine, but I just can’t stomach coffee these days.  The thought of it makes me ill.”

He seems to take that under consideration.  “Anything else you’re avoiding?”

“Meat,” she says.  “Sugar. I can’t - “  She can almost feel herself turning green at the thought of it.

He looks sympathetic.  And a little scared. She doesn’t blame him.  The process of gestating a human disturbs her out on a daily basis.  She tries not to think about it too much.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asks.

She takes a seat at the island in her kitchen.  “A glass of milk.”

He looks at her, to see if she’s joking.

“I know,” she says, “it shocks me too, but it’s the only thing I want.”

Shrugging, he gets a glass of milk for her and sets it on the counter.

She takes a drink and looks at him.  It should be criminal to be as attractive as he is.  “Steve, you can’t work for the agency anymore.”

He nods.  “I know. I was just pushing your buttons last night.”

She nods, hating that she is so transparent, but gratified that he’s not going to fight her on it.  But she can’t help her curiosity. It’s been eating at her for months. “You’ve been working? While I’ve been gone?”

He takes a deep breath, and Peggy holds her hand up.  “Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

“It’s not what you think,” he says.

She looks at him.

“I’m an escort.  Literally. I take people to parties, to movies, out to dinner.  I keep them company. I pretend to be their boytoy at their fortieth highschool reunion.  I pretend to be their serious boyfriend at their cousin Sally’s wedding.” He takes a breath. “You were the only one I ever - “  He gestures vaguely with his hand. “It was you. Just you. Only you.”

These fucking hormones!  She blinks quickly, unable to look at him.  “All the same, no more escorting anyone anywhere.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She can’t stop the fissure of pleasure that trails down her spine at his words.

 

* * *

 

A crew finishes cleaning out Steve’s apartment.  Some of the stuff makes its way to Peggy’s place.  She informs him that it absolutely has to stay in the guest room.  She’s not about to allow her pristine space to descend into his normal level of chaos.  Most of his things end up in storage.

Peggy isn’t sure what Steve does with his time, other than workout.  She knows he does that a lot. He’s never looked better. Damn him. All the while, she seems to be both more gaunt, and more puffy by the day.  It’s a vexing, and thoroughly unattractive mix.

He’s also been spending time with his friend, James Barnes.  The two of them are apparently remodeling James’ home. Peggy can’t imagine it’s going well, but she’s not brave enough to ask.

Her hours are long and she often only sees Steve in passing, late at night, or first thing in the morning.  She enjoys it all the same, and she knows that's dangerous. But what’s to be done? She’s the one who insisted he move in with her.  She could push him to find a new place, but she hasn’t. She likes having him around.

She knows she's being unfair to him, but a lifetime of habits are turning out to be nearly impossible to set aside.  She looks at Steve, and while she wants to pull him close, she can't block out the visions of Colleen, dead.  Peggy can't forget the terror that gripped her when she realized that Steve had been Dottie's date.  He's made it clear that he's not afraid, but Peggy can't do the same.  She's terrified of what losing him would do to her.

They haven’t discussed the future at all.  She has no idea what’s going to happen once the baby’s born.  Peggy had envisioned hiring several nannies to care for the child in her absence.  She’s not sure how Steve figures into that picture.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Peggy's first opportunity to spend any significant amount of time together is at Peggy’s check up.  Steve meets her at the physician’s office, and they sit together in the waiting room. There are several other similar couples.

When they’re finally called back to meet with the doctor, she obviously notices Steve.

“This is the father,” Peggy explains.  “Steve.”

The doctor takes it in stride and introductions are made.  “It would be a good idea to get a health history as well,” she says, handing Steve a clipboard and paperwork.

Steve fills it out and Peggy glances over at it, curious as to what it says.  It hits her, both how much, and how little she knows about him.

And then it’s time for the exam.

They take Peggy to the sonogram room and hand her a gown.  She starts to strategically undress. Steve looks like he thinks he should leave.  She frowns at him. “You've seen it all.”

He shrugs, looking sheepish.

The technician comes back and dims the lights.  “So do you want to know the baby’s sex?”

“Yes,” Peggy says.

At the same time, Steve says, “No.”

Peggy shoots Steve a look and he frowns.

“ _Yes_ ,” Peggy reiterates.  “We want to know.”

“Okay,” the technician says brightly, ignoring the uncomfortable play by play.  Peggy suspects she sees this a lot.

The technician guides them through the sonogram, pointing out various things on the screen.  Truthfully, it all looks like a bunch of static to Peggy. Steve, on the other hand, is leaning on the back of the technician’s chair to get a better look, his mouth open as he watches in wonder.

“Okay, I can’t be absolutely certain,” the technician says, “but in my professional opinion, I would say that you’re having a girl.”

Peggy blinks.  A girl. That’s what she thought.  When she went so far as to think about it at all.  

The technician makes several printouts, and then turns off the machine.  She helps Peggy sit up, and then leaves the room.

As Peggy is cleaning transducing gel out of places she’d rather not think about, she’s aware of Steve sitting in a chair across the room, completely transfixed on the printouts.  He’s still staring at the thin sheets of paper when she’s finally set herself to rights. “Steve?”

He looks up at her, and his eyes are red.  He opens his mouth and then closes it again.  He stands up and clears his throat. “We’re going to have a little girl.”

Peggy nods.  “It appears so.”

He nods.  “Good.”

They discuss the sonogram results with the doctor, who assures them that everything looks great.  She reiterates to Peggy the importance of good nutrition, exercise, and stress management.

 

* * *

 

Peggy had a SHIELD car drop her off for the appointment, so she rides home with Steve, who has her car.  He had to take several boxes of things to be donated earlier in the afternoon. Peggy isn’t normally done with work so early, but she took a half day for the appointment, and the doctor’s point about stress management hit home.  She knows she needs to cut back.

“Do you want to order food?” Peggy asks.

Steve nods.  “Sure.”

“I mean, if you have plans - “

“I don’t have plans, Peggy,” he says firmly.  “I’ll order food. You go change.”

Peggy takes a bath, not too hot, and then changes into pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt.  The weather is getting chilly again and all of the windows in her condo face north, so it’s always cold this time of year.

She and Steve eat dinner together.  It’s nice. She’s reminded, in a bittersweet way, that she really likes Steve and truly enjoys his company.  He’s kind and compassionate and funny. Steve cleans up dinner and Peggy finds something to watch on TV. Her couch was picked out by the same designer who did the rest of the condo.  It’s a large sectional. Truthfully, Peggy has never used it much. She’s never here, and when she is, she’s usually on her laptop in her room. By comparison, Steve has been using the couch.  He makes himself comfortable in his usual spot.

Peggy gets up and grabs a blanket out of the hall closet and comes back, sitting considerably closer to Steve.  She covers both of them with the blanket.

“I’m not cold,” he says.

“Yes, but I am,” she says, “and you put out heat like a furnace.”

He smiles, but doesn’t say anything else.

They watch Peggy’s movie, which turns out to be a bit of a dud.  It starts out well enough, but then the plot descends into absurdity.  After that, Steve picks a screwball comedy. Peggy decides to rest her eyes, which leads to resting her head against Steve’s shoulder.  When she finally wakes up, it’s almost three in the morning and she’s asleep on Steve, laying across him with her head in his lap. His hand is resting against her hip, idly tapping out a rhythm as he watches some ridiculous action movie.

“Sorry,” she says, pushing herself into a sitting position.

He shakes his head.  “It’s okay.”

“All the same.”  She frowns. She feels cold, now that she’s no longer pressed against him.  “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Peggy.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You _what?”_ Bucky says, spilling his beer as he looks at Steve.

Reaching over, Steve sets the beer upright.  They’re on Bucky’s back deck, newly upgraded with new steps and railings, courtesy of the two of them.  It’s mostly level, if you don’t look too closely. Natasha isn’t terribly impressed with either of them at the moment.

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “We’re going to have a kid.”

Bucky shakes his head.  “Pregnant? You got someone pregnant?”

Steve looks at him seriously.  “Peggy and I are expecting a child together.  We’re having a little girl.”

“ _When did this fucking happen?_ ” Bucky demands.  He stops, and smiles.  “No pun intended.”

Steve ignores the off color joke and shrugs.  “I’ve been seeing her off and on since last December.”

Bucky is obviously still having a difficult time with the information.  He shakes his head. “And that’s where you’re staying? With her?”

Steve nods.  “For now.”

Bucky starts to say something and then stops.  He just shrugs and slaps Steve on the back. “Congratulations.”

 

* * *

 

The next couple of weeks are a balancing act.  Peggy notices the amount of vegetables in her fridge triples.  And Steve somehow manages to be in the kitchen, making himself a smoothie in the mornings, and asks if she wants one too.  Which she does, damn him. She knows she’s being managed and she wants to hate it, but mostly she’s grateful for the assistance.

Peggy cuts her hours back at work.  She’s the new Director, and it requires an intense commitment.  But it also means empowering trusted employees, and delegating. Working smarter, not harder.  It’s not as easy as it sounds, but Peggy’s learning. It’s bumpy, but this line of work always is.  She trusts her direct reports, and that’s key.

The new hours mean she’s home more in the evenings.  Steve takes up cooking  - with a lot of help from Peggy’s housekeeper, who Peggy knows is sweet on him.  He’s surprisingly good at simple meals. Nothing fancy. But he can manage quite a few staples nicely.

There’s another checkup.  No sonogram this time, just measurements.  Peggy is at the end of her second trimester, and she’s not feeling particularly enthusiastic about starting the third.  She’s finally really starting to show. She lost a bit of weight initially, with being put off by meat and sugar, so she could wear her normal clothes.  But no longer. She’s started buying maternity wear. She hates every bit of it. Not least of all because she’s going to have to acknowledge it at work, at least to her direct reports.  No one has been brave enough to say anything yet, but she's going to have to address the issue.

Also, her appetite has now returned with a vengeance, in pretty much every arena, leading to frustration across the board.

“Are you feeling the baby move regularly?” the doctor asks.

Peggy nods.  “Yes. Usually in the evenings, once I’ve finally settled down to rest.”

Steve looks at her, frowning.  “You feel the baby move?”

Peggy takes a breath, trying to find an appropriate response.  She realizes he’s upset, and in retrospect, realizes she should have anticipated that.

“Mothers,” the doctor interjects, “are able to feel the baby’s movements internally fairly early in the process.  But she’s at the point where they should be detectable from the outside.”

That seems to mollify Steve a bit, who sinks back in his chair.  “Oh.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Peggy is sitting on the couch, scrolling through her laptop.  She used to do this in her room, but she’s taken to sitting on the couch so she can be near Steve.  He turns on the TV and flops down in his usual spot nearby.

He’s into his second episode of a documentary series about border security agents when Peggy hisses in discomfort.  He immediately leans over toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She rolls her eyes.  “Nothing.”

He frowns, looking more worried by the second.

Sighing, she says, “Give me your hand.”

He holds out his hand and Peggy guides it to her right side, just above her hip bone, where the tiny alien she’s hatching is trying to kick a hole through her abdominal wall.  Steve blinks. “Is that - “

“Yes,” Peggy says.  “Your daughter.”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it again.  He scoots closer, until he’s practically wrapped around Peggy.  Though Peggy has the distinct impression that Steve has forgotten she’s even there.  He’s completely fixated on the tiny little kicks.

It’s several minutes before he seems to realize that he has both of his arms around Peggy, and has pulled her partially onto his lap.  He looks at her. Their faces are nearly touching. His eyelashes really are incredible.

“I, uh, sorry,” he says, swallowing thickly.

She opens her mouth to say something, but then just shakes her head.  She turns her face away, but curves her hand around his, moving it so he’s cupping her belly.  The baby follows the movement.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.  “I don’t intentionally keep you out of the loop.”

“I understand,” he finally says.

She laughs.  “I found some of your baby books.  How many did you buy?”

He laughs too, though she can feel it more than hear it.  “A lot. The baby’s the size of a small butternut squash, in case you were wondering.”

She snorts.  “That’s absurd.  Humans aren’t shaped like squash.”

He takes a deep breath.  “The books also recommend a rich body lotion in case your abdomen starts itching.  It can help.”

Peggy nods.  “Good to know.”

They share another laugh, but then both of them fall silent.  Peggy is painfully aware of Steve’s arms around her. He leans in.  She can feel his breath against her neck.

“ _Peggy_.”

She wants him so badly her entire body is throbbing in anticipation.  But she can’t. Shaking her head, she heaves herself off the couch. She can’t look at him.  She takes the laptop and retreats to her room. She’s a coward and she knows it, but she has no choice.

 

* * *

 

“Where the hell have you been, man?” Sam demands.

Steve just shakes his head.  He doesn’t even know where to begin.  Though, truthfully, Sam has been pretty MIA too.  He and Val are getting serious, fast. “Around,” Steve finally says.  “I had to move.”

“Yeah?” Sam says skeptically.  “Where?”

Steve drags his hand through his hair and checks his phone again.  No messages. Not that he’s expecting any, but you never know. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, I bet it is,” Sam says, “I saw your lock screen.  That’s a goddamn sonogram. You knocked her up, didn’t you?  She was supposed to be your _client_ , Steve.  And now you’re what?  A kept man somewhere?”

“It’s not like that,” Steve says sourly.  “First off, we were off the clock when it happened.  Secondly, I’m not _kept._  There are some very real logistical issues we’re trying to work out and I’m staying with her temporarily.  We’re not even really together.”

“But she is pregnant.”

Steve nods.  “Yeah.”

“And it’s yours?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re living with her?”

“What’s your point?” Steve asks.

“Nothing, man.  Seems pretty casual.”  Sam shakes his head, but then seems to relent.  “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Steve says.  “Thanks for asking.”

“Is this a good thing?” Sam pushes.  “Do you want this? I mean, I don’t have a lot of details, but from where I’m sitting you two sound like you didn’t exactly plan this out.”

Steve scrubs his hand over his face.  “It wasn’t planned. But yes, I do want it.  And Peggy does too. We’re trying to figure out how to be parents together.”

“And that’s it?  Just parenting together?”

Steve shrugs.  “For now.”

Sam shakes his head like he feels sorry for Steve.  “I hope you two can work out the logistics before junior shows up.”

“You and me both,” Steve says.

 

END CHAPTER


	7. Chapter 7

Despite Peggy’s best efforts, there are simply times when work-life balance is nothing more than a sadistic joke.  She delegates as much as she can, but certain cases demand directorial oversight. It isn’t that she doesn’t trust the people in her employ, but she’s the one at the helm.  Some things can’t be handed off.

Peggy sets aside her exhaustion and swollen ankles, and rolls up her sleeves and gets the work done.  She has a lot of late nights, including one where she doesn’t go home at all. There are two intercontinental trips, and days of meetings that would be mind numbing under the most ideal circumstances.

By the time two weeks have passed, Peggy hates everyone and everything.  If looks could kill, every single person in the vicinity would be dead. She’s had an absolutely shite day.  Nothing has gone right. She’s tired and aching and starving. 

When she gets home, it’s already late.  Steve is just finishing making dinner. Peggy throws her bag and coat down on the couch and stalks into the kitchen, already irrationally angry.  “You’re making  _ chicken _ ?”

He looks at her warily, before carefully responding.  “Well, I was. But I can make something else.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, fully aware of the hysterical edge to her voice.  She can feel her eyes welling with tears. What the fuck is going on?

Steve turns off the stove and carefully approaches her, palms up.  “Peggy?” 

“I’m fine,” she says, well aware that she sounds about as un-fine as a person can sound.

Frowning, he reaches out and gently touches her arm.  His touch, the heat of his hand, feels like flame against her skin.  It seems like lifetimes since she’s been touched so carefully. It sets off a firestorm in her mind.  Her instinct is to rage at him, or hit him. But instead, she sort of crumples in on herself as he pulls her close.  Wrapping his arms around her, he kisses her on the top of the head. She looks up at him. She has been so sexually frustrated for weeks that she has literally cried about it.  More than once. 

He meets her gaze, his hand coming up and cupping the side of her face.  “Are you okay?”

She shrugs, having no idea how to answer that.  She knows all the reasons why she broke things off with him.  They’re practically branded on her soul at this point. She repeats them to herself, like a mantra, to keep herself from running to him.  They’re valid reasons, prudent reasons. 

But she’s so miserably lonely.  

And he’s right here.

Instead of answering him with words, she pushes up on tiptoe.  Steve meets her halfway, kissing her gently.

Gentle, however, is not exactly what she wants right at that moment.  With a growl, she pulls at his shirt. It appears that Steve might be a bit sexually frustrated as well because he’s out of the shirt immediately.  She literally moans at the feel of his bare skin under her hands.

They make their way to the couch, stumbling in their haste.  She ends up on her back on the couch. Steve is sort of leaning over her.  The couch isn’t big enough for both of them to stretch out side by side, but he does an admirable job of improvising so that as much of him is in contact with her as possible.  

“Are you sure this is okay?” Steve asks around kisses, as he hurriedly finishes undressing both of them.

“It’s not in your book?” Peggy snaps.   

In retaliation for her smart reply, Steve does this thing with his fingers that leaves her beyond words.  Her body is too primed. She’s not sure she’s ever wanted him this much, and she’s been on edge for weeks.  In no time, she’s coming apart in his arms, hissing his name as her fingernails bite into his biceps.

It is such sweet relief.  But by no means is she sated.  When she has her wits about her again, she tells him to sit up on the couch.  She manages to maneuver herself, with his help, into his lap, facing him. The look of naked longing on his features nearly steals her breath.  

He kisses her, long, and slow, and perfect, his hands trailing over her back and sides.  “It is in my book,” he says, frowning. “I wanted to make sure your doctor hadn’t said it was a bad idea.”

“She said sex is fine,” Peggy replies impatiently, rocking her hips against him.  

It’s his turn to fall silent as his fingers dig into her thighs.  “ _ Peggy _ .”

Together, they reposition her until she’s sliding down on him.  There’s no playful banter. Not even any love words. They’re both too intent on what they’re doing, moving together.  It’s been so long. Even though they’ve been living together for weeks, the separation has been hard on both of them. It’s an absolute relief to be able to touch and taste and feel one another.  They are both completely fixated on the physicality of what they’re doing. 

Peggy reaches the peak first, shivering with delight, groaning his name.  Steve is close behind, quieter, clutching at her until his breathing evens out.

 

* * *

 

Afterward, they stay where they are, with Peggy slumped against him.  His arms are around her, his chin resting on top of her head. The relief of touching, and being touched, is still intense.  She feels drunk on the sensation of his bare skin against hers.

But sex isn’t her only priority.  “I’m hungry.”

Steve snorts.  “What do you want me to make?”

“Chicken’s fine,” she admits, without looking at him.  “I was just feeling out of sorts.”

He laughs.  “I noticed.”  He squeezes her close.  “I’m glad we got that worked out.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy takes a quick shower and changes into comfortable clothes.  She and Steve eat dinner and then watch TV. Well, he watches TV. She lays against him with her eyes closed.  Peggy’s mood has improved significantly, but she’s still exhausted. It’s not long before she’s yawning. 

She stands up and looks at Steve.  “I’m going to sleep,” she says. “Do you want to join me?”

He nods, already standing up.  “Yes.” It’s pretty clear he has no intention of giving her enough time or space to reconsider putting the brakes on their relationship again.  Though, truthfully, she doubts she has the energy.

Peggy wonders if it should feel weird, Steve following her into her room, after all the energy she put into keeping him firmly in the guest room.  She brushes her teeth and rubs moisturizer on her belly. When she exits the bathroom, Steve’s sitting on the bed in only his boxers. It feels terrifying to see him sitting there.  But also, such a relief.

After she turns off the lights, he waits for her to get comfortable and then curls up against her, his hand against her belly.  Peggy moves his hand up, repositioning it under her breasts, where the little kicks are the strongest.

She tries to ignore the way his deeply contented sigh makes her feel.

 

* * *

 

Steve has moved in.  He’s been living with her for months, but now he’s really  _ moved in _ .  His toothpaste tube is crumpled on her bathroom counter.  His clothes are at least out of sight. She cleared out a few drawers for him.  Though she’s certain if she opened them, the clothes would just be thrown inside.

Peggy’s bedroom, like the rest of the condo, was professionally decorated.  And while Peggy would never consider her personal style to be particularly feminine, she’s having to reevaluate now that Steve is sharing her room.  All of her furniture looks slightly diminutive compared to him. However, she’s in no mood to decorate at the moment, so Steve is just going to have to look out of place for a while longer.

The guest room he had been using has now been converted into a studio of sorts.  But it’s quickly becoming apparent, at least to Peggy, that if he’s going to cohabitate with her long term, that perhaps moving would be best.  He’s made a few comments about having a yard for the baby. Peggy, to her own surprise, agreed it would be nice. Plus, the baby will eventually need more space, which the condo simply doesn’t have.  All of these seem to be a completely logical progression that somehow Peggy managed to spend the entirety of her pregnancy avoiding considering.

It’s a lot to think about.

In the meantime, Steve is a constant fixture in her bed.  Peggy supposes it’s more  _ their _ bed now, than her bed.  More often than not, they don’t even have sex.  She’s too exhausted. But Peggy can tell her personal stress level has gone down by at least half, just having him hold her at night.  She understands that it’s basic human biology. Pair bonding. The familiarity of his touch, the support and stability he provides. It lowers cortisol levels, increases oxytocin, all sorts of feel good biochemistry bullshit.  

All Peggy truly knows is that she feels better when Steve is where he belongs - at her side.

Though, if she finds another pair of his dirty underwear in the middle of the closet floor, she might kick him out anyway.

 

* * *

 

It’s several weeks after they’ve reconciled, when they’re in bed together and Peggy is about to fall asleep.  Steve says, “Bucky and Nat are getting married in a few weeks.”

“Your friends?”

“Yeah.”  He takes a deep breath.  “I’d like you to go. As my date.  It’s going to be a small ceremony. They already know about you.  And the baby. I’d like them to meet you.”

Peggy rolls onto her back.  It’s too dark to actually see him, but she runs her fingers against the edge of his jaw.

“I know this wasn’t the way you planned things,” he says, “but it’s what we have.  You’re not going to compartmentalize me. And you’re not getting rid of me. You might as well admit we’re together.”

She reaches over and turns on the lamp on her bedside table.  Then she rolls over, so she’s facing him, and mounds up her pillows so she’s comfortable.  His expression is calm, but serious, and she loves him so much it hurts to look at him.

“What did you tell your friends about me?” she asks.

“Not much,” he admits, taking her hand, twining their fingers together.  “Buck knows we’ve been seeing each other for about a year. He knows about the baby, and that I’m staying here.”  He sighs. “Sam knows more. He knows how we really met.”

She nods.  She assumed at least some of his friends knew the truth.  But she also knows that Steve is discrete, in general. 

She takes a deep breath.  “What about you? What do you know about me?” she asks.  He has his resources, she knows. She wonders how much he’s exercised them.  

“I know you’re in charge of an intelligence organization,” he says.  “I know you grew up in England. Hampstead, I think. Your parents and brother are still alive, and I’m betting they don’t know about the baby yet - or me.”

She sighs.  “SHIELD is an international peacekeeping, law enforcement, and counter-terrorism agency sanctioned by the United Nations,” she says, knowing she sounds like a brochure.  “I’m the Director. I report directly to the World Security Council.”

Steve nods, unsurprised.  “Dangerous job.”

“It is,” she agrees.  “I have a huge target on my back.  But I also have to find a way to live my life, or none of it has any meaning.”

He smiles.  “I love you too.”

She pushes herself up on her elbow and leans over, kissing him softly.  “I do love you, Steve.”

He pulls her close and she rests her head on his shoulder.  They stay like that for a while, curled together. Her heart hammers in her chest.  She’s known, for a long time, that she loves him. She’s only been able to admit it to herself recently.  And saying it, is nearly enough to give her a stroke.

“You’re right,” she finally admits.  “I haven’t told my family yet.”

He runs his hand over her belly.  “You probably need to do that soon.”

She groans, changing the subject.  “So, Bucky’s wedding.”

He nods.  “Yeah.”

She looks at him.  “Natasha works for me.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and then sighs wearily.  “Why doesn’t that shock me? I always suspected she was employed in black ops.”

Peggy traces her finger across his chest.  “She’s the one who referred me to Hill. Before I was her boss.”

Steve frowns and looks down at her.  “Nat doesn’t even know I worked for the agency.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” Peggy says dryly.  “I believe we were set up, Captain.” Peggy’s had a while to come to terms with this information.  It still irritates her, but she’s made her peace, as much as she can, especially considering how it turned out.

Steve makes a grouchy noise and holds Peggy tighter.  It’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to think about how much of their “chance” meeting they might really owe to Natasha.

“I think we should go,” Peggy says.  “At least let Natasha see her handiwork in person.  After all the trouble she went to.”

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Peggy makes a few comments about possibly buying a house, without really opening up a conversation on the subject.  Testing the waters. Steve is amenable to the idea, but doesn’t voice any real opinions, aside from the yard for the baby. It’s an interesting negotiation.  One Peggy would enjoy infinitely more were she not right in the middle of it in every possible way.

Steve is, bluntly put, broke.  She knows now that a lot of the money he earned through their financial arrangement went toward Barnes’ medical treatments.  The rest of it, Steve undoubtedly squirreled away, living like a mizer. But even with his bare bones lifestyle, living in the D.C. area is expensive.  And as far as Peggy can tell, he isn’t making any money on his art, and hasn’t in a long time - if ever.

By Steve’s own admission, he only had one truly physical arrangement with a client, and that was Peggy.  Which means that while he was employed by Hill, he must have been making considerably less money escorting his other clients.  So with limited money coming in, and a high cost of living, he must have burned through his savings at a pretty good pace.

So Peggy is pretty sure that the issue isn’t that Steve doesn’t have an opinion on the subject of a house.  But given that he isn’t in a position to be able to contribute toward it financially, she suspects that he doesn’t feel like he has much say in the matter.  

Her compromise is to look at real estate listings on her tablet while she’s curled up next to him on the couch.  Invariably, he looks at the listings with her. She narrows down the search criteria, acceptable neighborhoods based on proximity to her office and school districts.  The available homes really run the gamut in terms of size, condition, and taste.

Steve’s favorite is a Victorian that looks like a fixer-upper from hell.  As much as Peggy loves him, she has her limits. She’s heard about Barnes’ deck.

 

* * *

 

They find several house listings that both of them agree look interesting.  Peggy carves a free afternoon out of her packed schedule and sets up appointments with an agent.  The walk throughs are one of the most infuriating and amusing exchanges in recent memory. While Peggy is fairly certain that Steve has no real skill in home repair, it doesn’t stop him from grilling the agent about the construction of the various homes.  He’s relentless.

They look at five different homes.  One of them Steve loves, but Peggy hates.  Peggy finds the amount of wood paneling to be truly criminal.  Steve quickly offers that he could easily switch it out for drywall.  Peggy immediately has a vision of her new home as an unending construction zone with dust and debris everywhere for the forseeable future.  No.

The next one has a phenomenal open floorplan that Peggy loves, but Steve strenuously objects to the amount of traffic on the street.  He also doesn’t like all the marble in the kitchen, but he refrains from saying that.

The next two homes are okay, but they don’t particularly grab either Steve or Peggy’s attention in any real way.  

And then they see the final listing.

It’s perfect.

The house is exactly what Peggy wants.  It’s light and airy, recently remodeled with all the latest finishes.   It’s an established neighborhood with mature trees and great schools. The yard is a good size, but it could use some work, which Steve sees as a bonus.  And there’s a carriage house in the back that needs a lot of work. It’s perfect. Steve could remodel it to be an art studio to his heart’s content. He could make a giant mess and take forever to get anything done and it wouldn’t destroy Peggy’s pristine home.

But the house is criminally expensive.

It’s with a bit of a heavy heart that they both thank the agent and tell her they’ll get back to her.

“That’s  _ a lot _ of money,” Steve says in the car on the way back to the condo, his disappointment clear.

“Indeed,” Peggy agrees sadly.  She makes a lot of money. But even for her, it would be a lot.

 

* * *

 

At Natasha and Barnes’ wedding, Peggy’s suspicions of Natasha playing matchmaker are confirmed.  She catches Natasha’s eye across the room. Oh yes, Peggy and Steve were definitely set up. Peggy wishes she could be more irritated about that.  However, Natasha’s meddling turned out really well.

The wedding venue and guest list are small.  The venue is at least elegant. The guest list, not so much.  It’s clear that Steve, Barnes, and their friends share an exceptionally close bond.  

There is no wedding party to speak of, simply Barnes and Natasha.  Barnes looks better than Peggy would have suspected. She’s never seen him before, but he has the look of someone who is a bit underweight, and his hair seems a tad short.  His color isn’t great, but he doesn’t look unwell in his suit. Natasha, on the other hand, is radiant in a simple black dress.

The ceremony is blessedly short and surprisingly sweet.  It’s clear that Natasha and Barnes care for one another deeply.  Peggy has known Natasha for years. She never imagined seeing her like this.  It’s enlightening to realize that even someone as outwardly jaded as Natasha is capable of standing up in a room full of people and publicly taking what are obviously heartfelt vows of commitment.  Peggy blames the baby when she’s forced to dab at her eyes. The ceremony is brought to a close with one of the most over the top kisses Peggy has ever had the misfortune of witnessing in person. Ever subtle, Steve and Barnes’ friends respond with an ungodly racket of hooting, yelling, and wahooing.

After the ceremony, everyone goes out for dinner.  Peggy is somewhat amused with the novelty of being ‘the girlfriend’.  She doesn’t think that’s ever happened before. And the fact that she’s so obviously expecting a child is a source of endless amusement for Steve’s friends, who tease him mercilessly.  She gets the impression that even among the few of Steve’s friends who knew of his impending fatherhood, none of them realized it was quite so iminent.

At some point, there’s music, and Steve’s friends try to browbeat him into dancing with Peggy.  She politely declines, claiming that her center of balance is unreliable. Steve seems relieved to be spared the public display.  Though he’s attentive as ever, sticking close to her the whole time. He discretely holds her hand under the table.

Peggy appreciates his discretion, but it’s all a bit too little, too late.  She feels as big as a house. They’re certainly not going to fool anyone into thinking they’re merely friends.  

Peggy knows that with her role at SHIELD, she has to be able to maintain some type of public persona.  And it’s fairly clear that Steve will be part of that public persona. She loves him. They’re expecting a child together.  

He’s right, she can’t compartmentalize him.  As the night wears on and most of the revelers are several sheets to the wind, Peggy leans over and kisses Steve.  He’s shocked, but quickly gives over to it, wrapping his arm around her.

 

* * *

 

It’s very late when they make it back to the condo.  Peggy finds herself reaching for Steve’s hand as they walk to the elevator.  Not for any reason other than that she wants to. It feels indulgent, but good.  Life has taught her to closely guard the people she cherishes, to never let the world see that she cares, lest they become targets themselves.  But that’s no real life. 

In the elevator, Steve backs her against the wall and kisses her.  She twines her fingers in his hair, feeling her pulse beat faster. By the time they make it to the bedroom, they’re undressing each other.

 

* * *

 

It’s nearly dawn, when the combination of baby and bladder force Peggy to make a trip to the bathroom.  Steve is out cold. She hurries back to bed and curls herself against the inviting warmth of him. Without really waking, he pulls her close.

It still terrifies Peggy to think of a life with him.  But she realizes she’s reaching the point where it terrifies her so much more to think of a life without him.

 

**END CHAPTER**


	8. Chapter 8

Peggy’s work descends into an absolute hell.  She ends up spending two days in London. (She has lunch with her mother.  It’s not an ideal way to break the news, but at least it’s done). Even when she gets back to D.C., she barely sees Steve as she’s running out the door.  

She manages to take one afternoon for a childbirth class.  Steve is adamant. It’s required by the hospital. Peggy, quite reasonably, points out that not taking the class is hardly going to prevent her from having the baby, but Steve isn’t impressed with her logic.  The childbirth class definitely doesn’t rank as quality bonding time - watching natural childbirth videos and taking a tour of birthing suites at the hospital. Truth told, half her attention is on her phone, trying to manage various crises remotely.  

When she does see Steve at home, it seems like what little time they spend together is used to sketch out a birth plan.  Peggy wants calm above all else. As few people as possible are to be allowed in the room. 

“Is your mom going to be there?” Steve asks.

“God, no,” Peggy scoffs.  She has had several more phone conversations with both her parents and brother, about Steve, and the baby.  They haven’t been the most pleasant of conversations. Peggy isn’t precisely estranged from her family, but they’re not close.  For Peggy, it’s just brought into focus how much she’s kept everyone at a distance - her family included. It’s not a happy realization.  

She gives Steve a tight smile.  “Just you.”

He nods and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side.

Peggy blinks quickly.  Blasted hormones. She takes a deep breath.  “I suppose we also need to start interviewing nannies.”

Steve pulls back and looks at her.  “Nannies?”

Peggy nods.  “Indeed. Two, at least.”

Steve frowns.  “We don’t need a nanny.”

“We certainly do,” Peggy replies.  “I have three weeks of maternity leave.  Any more than that and the whole organization will go to hell in a handbasket.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says, “that still doesn’t mean we need a nanny, much less two of them.”

“Well, who’s going to watch the baby?”

“ _ I am _ !” Steve snaps, clearly offended.  He’s breathing hard. “Or do you not trust me?”

“No, I ... “ Peggy starts, at a loss.  She frowns. Again, she’s not at all certain why it didn’t occur to her that Steve would just assume he was taking care of the baby.  Clearly, he’s been doing all of the prep work aside from the literal gestating. 

She frowns, taking a deep breath.  “Of course I trust you,” she says quietly, laying her hand on his arm.

That seems to mollify him and he relaxes.

“I guess when I found out I was pregnant, I made a plan in my head that involved nannies and I didn’t change it when you came into the picture,” she said carefully.  “Do you want to stay home with the baby?”

“Yes,” he says vehemently.  

“Okay then,” Peggy says, “that’s settled.”  She pauses. “But if you decide you need help - “

“I won’t need help,” Steve says stubbornly.  “I don’t trust anybody with our kid.”

Peggy can’t help it, she smiles.  “Of course you don’t.”

 

* * *

 

Steve makes a playlist of soothing music, but that’s really as far as they get with the birth plan.  Peggy blocks off time the week before the baby is due to really focus on it. 

Meanwhile, she knows that Steve is preparing as much as he can.  She’s seen him cross referencing carseat guidelines and online reviews, adding items to a gift registry.  

One glance at Peggy’s calendar and she realizes her schedule is going to be murder for weeks.  There’s a hard stop on her calendar only because of the baby’s due date, which is a little over a month away.  She hates that she doesn’t have more time at home, but there isn’t much to be done about it. She has to get as much done as she can before the baby arrives, or else she’s not even going to manage three weeks away from the office.

Peggy’s in a car, headed to catch a plane.  On a whim, she makes a call to the real estate agent.  

Peggy tells her that she wants to put in an offer on the house that she and Steve loved.  She doesn’t tell Steve, knowing he will be very hesitant. Peggy can afford it. Her due date looms ever closer, and they’re going to need a bigger place eventually.  

No time like the present.

 

* * *

 

Steve stops in the middle of taking off his jacket and looks at Buck and Sam.  “What’s this?”

“What the fuck does it look like?” Bucky replies, gesturing with his hand to the platter of nachos, beers, and boxes of diapers on his kitchen table.  “It’s a fucking baby shower.”

Steve finishes taking off his jacket and shakes his head, reaching for a beer.  Natasha walks into the room and pats Steve on the shoulder before reaching up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.  “Congratulations, Steve.”

Steve can feel himself blush, but he nods.  “Thanks.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.  “I, uh, sorry Peggy couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, Coulson said she got dragged into some summit in Toronto,” Natasha says blandly, grabbing a chip as she retreats to the living room.

Steve frowns.  “Yeah.”

Sam snags a beer and looks at Steve.  “Is someone that pregnant supposed to be flying as much as she does?”

Steve shakes his head.  “Just leave it alone,” he warns.  It’s a very old argument and he’s finally given up fighting with Peggy about it.

Steve, Sam, and Buck head into the living room.  Steve and Sam take seats on Bucky’s crappy couch while Buck makes himself comfortable in his equally crappy recliner.  They turn on the game.

“You guys pick out a name?” Sam asks.

“James,” Bucky says.  “Good name. Strong. Classic.”

“We’re having a girl,” Steve says dryly.

Buck shrugs.  “Don’t be so old fashioned, Steve.  Girls are being given traditionally masculine names all the time now.”

“Not happening,” Steve says with finality.

“Samantha’s a good name,” Sam offers.

“Both of you fuck off,” Steve replies.  “I’m not naming my baby girl after either of you jackasses.”

Bucky leans over and looks at Steve seriously.  “What if I die, Steve? You think of that? I need a namesake.”

Natasha walks into the room and smacks Buck in the back of the head.  “According to your doctor, you’re perfectly healthy,” she says. “You don’t need a namesake, you need a job.  You’re dangerous when you’re bored.”

Buck makes a face at Natasha, but Steve notices that when Natasha leans down to give Buck a kiss, he doesn’t complain.

“Besides,” Natasha says, “we named the dog after you.”

Bucky frowns.  “The dog’s named Lucky.”

Natasha ruffles Buck’s hair.  “Exactly.”

Their exchange, while mildly nauseating, makes Steve wish that Peggy was there even more.

 

* * *

 

It’s just after halftime when the rest of the guys show up, all bearing gifts.  Some of them are nice. Dugan got the carseat that Steve put on the baby registry.  Steve isn’t sure if Dugan expects the bottle of bourbon to be used in tandem or not.

Morita gives Steve a box of condoms and a breast pump.  It would be easy to think that Morita was just giving Steve hell, but given that Jim has four kids under the age of six, Steve thinks maybe he knows a few things Steve doesn’t.  

Steve looks at the breast pump.

Morita meets his gaze, his expression completely deadpan.  “You’ll need to buy nipple shields,” he says. “And nipple ointment.  Nursing bras.”

“Nursing bras?”

Morita nods.  “They have little hooks so the cups can be pulled down,” he says.  “Easy access.” He nods. “It sounds sexy.”

Steve arches an eyebrow.  Something in Morita’s tone scares him.

Morita shakes his head solemnly.  “It’s not sexy.”

Steve can feel himself pale.  

Morita gives him a nod and chucks him on the shoulder.  “You’ve been through war. You can probably survive this.  Good luck.” He glances around the room. “Did DumDum bring bourbon?”

 

* * *

 

Peggy handles the bulk of the house buying process via email.  There’s an inspection, and then some issue with the title that has to be sorted out.  Peggy manages to negotiate a new roof, and having closing costs covered. And then, miraculously, the house is hers.

Well, almost hers.

She browbeats her colleagues into staying late and finishing up the negotiations, rather than dragging them into the next day.  She’s up before dawn and flies into D.C. in the morning. She gets a rental car. 

She told Steve she wouldn’t be back until evening.  She told her assistant at SHIELD that she had to have tests run at the hospital.  It’s a necessary ruse to buy her a morning uninterrupted by either SHIELD or baby concerns.

Peggy meets the real estate agent to sign the papers and pick up the keys to the house.  She’ll still have to sell the condo, but she’s going to worry about that later. 

Peggy is shocked at how relieved she is when the house is finally hers.  She’s read, in Steve’s books, about nesting. She’s pretty certain that’s not what this is.  They just need more space. She’s being practical. If her heart rests easier at the idea of creating a new home together with Steve, for their child, it’s merely coincidental.

Driving back to the condo, Peggy finds herself thinking about how she’s going to decorate the baby’s room.  She already has a few furniture items on her wishlist, but she’d been hesitant to buy them until things were finalized with the house.  But now with that done, she can have them delivered right away. Steve will need to paint the room. And there was a set of nursery bedding with tiny little daisies on them that Peggy had been eyeing.

 

* * *

 

As she gets closer to home, Peggy looks at the gas gauge on the rental car.  The rental place will come get the car, but they’ll charge her if the tank isn’t full.  Personally, Peggy doesn’t care, but she knows that Steve will be morally offended at paying ten dollars a gallon for gas.

She pulls into a sketchy little gas station a couple miles from her freeway exit.  She’s thirsty, as usual. And hungry. After she fills up the car, she goes into the little gas station convenience store in search of snacks.  

She’s standing in the narrow aisle trying to decide between Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and Cool Ranch Doritos.  Just as she reaches for the Doritos, a gunshot splits the air.

Peggy grabs for her sidearm.  It’s not there. 

She quit wearing her thigh holster (because it doesn’t fit).  She left her purse in the car. 

“Everyone up to the front,” one of the assailants yells, waving a pistol wildly.  

Another customer slams into Peggy, forcing her toward the front of the store.  There’s only three customers, Peggy included, and the kid behind the counter who can’t be more than seventeen.  There are two men in masks with guns. They demand that the kid give them the money, which he does. Then they demand money from the safe, which the kid clearly doesn’t have access to.  It doesn’t stop one of the assailants from cracking the kid across the side of the head with the butt of the pistol.

“Everyone out.  Into the van,” the shorter of the two men yells, again waving his gun.

Peggy realizes, with dawning horror, that these two bozos have no idea what they’re doing.  They’re amped up on something, and armed, and they have no plan. Peggy covertly reaches for her phone, only to realize she left it in the car too.  Dammit.

The taller man grabs her by the upper arm and starts dragging her outside toward a van.  The ridiculous shoes Peggy’s wearing have no traction and she skitters along, trying to keep her balance.  One of the other customers, an older woman, tries to get the assailant to let her go, and gets punched in the face for her troubles.

Peggy is shoved in the van.  She barely has time to register what’s happening before the other customers, and the kid working the counter, are shoved inside as well.  The van speeds away, taking a corner so fast it slams Peggy against the side of the van.

The taller of the two bozos is driving, and the shorter guy is turned around in his seat, his gun trained on Peggy and the others.  The van doesn’t have any windows or seats, just bare flooring and grime. The bozos are arguing about what to do now, confirming Peggy’s suspicions that they have no plan, and terrible improvisational skills.

Peggy looks at the other hostages.  Aside from the kid and the older woman, there is a middle aged guy in running gear, still holding a Vitamin Water.  They all look shell shocked. Peggy has been in scenarios like this more times than she can count, but it’s never been quite like this.  She’s never been as physically hindered as she is at the moment. She simply isn’t able to fight with their captors in her current physical state.  And even if she was, it’s no longer just about her. She’s painfully aware of how vulnerable the child she’s carrying is. 

She can’t even think about Steve.  Not right now.

The van seems to drive forever.  The arguing between the bozos gets worse the longer they drive.  They’re hatching one awful plan after another. The shorter guy keeps turning around, taking his eyes off the hostages, to more effectively argue with his partner.

Peggy knows they have to get help.  These two guys are inept, and dangerous.  They’re in over their heads and it’s only a matter of time before they decide that killing all the hostages will be their best chance to cut their losses.  Any other day, and Peggy could expect someone to be looking for her if she was gone for an hour without checking in. But not today. Neither Steve, nor SHIELD is going to be looking for her.  The timing is infuriating.

Peggy whispers to the other hostages, “Phone?”

Vitamin Water dude hisses at her to be quiet, but the woman discreetly hands Peggy her phone while the gunmen are arguing.  Vitamin Water dude makes a noise, but the kid elbows him in the ribs as hard as he can.

Peggy blindly texts a message.  On an unsecured channel, it’s completely against regulation.  But needs must. She hopes to god that she got the number right.

The van takes another hairpin turn and Peggy loses her balance, toppling over.  There’s a searing pain in her side and she cries out. The kid and the woman help her, but Peggy is only vaguely aware of them, overwhelmed with pain.  As the pain in her side fades, she realizes that her lower back is in excruciating pain as well.

“What’s going on with her?” the driver demands.

“Are you okay?” the woman asks, fear written on her features.

“I don’t know,” Peggy admits.  “I think my water broke.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy is gritting her teeth through another contraction when the van finally comes to a halt.  She has her breath back by the time the bozos open the door and start dragging the hostages out.  They’re inside an old parking structure that looks like it’s been abandoned for years. Peggy has no idea where they are.  It’s underground, which will make cell phone tracking difficult, if not impossible.  _ If _ anyone is tracking them at all.

Unfortunately, the bozos have the foresight to pat down the hostages.  They confiscate wallets, jewelry, and cell phones. Peggy’s heart sinks as they turn the phones off.  If there was any chance of being tracked, it’s gone now. Peggy can only hope the message went through and help is on its way.

The hostages are led into a storage room.  The bozos start zip tying people’s hands together.  Peggy shakes her head and tries to reason with the taller of the pair.  He ignores her completely.

“She’s in labor,” the older woman snaps.

That finally seems to get the guy’s attention.  He looks Peggy over, but she has no idea what he thinks behind the mask.  He ties her hands, just like everyone else.

Peggy leans back against the wall, gritting her teeth as another contraction hits her.  The contractions aren’t close together, or regularly spaced, so she has time. But she has to get out of here. 

  
  


**END CHAPTER**


	9. Chapter 9

Peggy, unfortunately, doesn’t manage to escape from the dirty, underground, storage room.  For hours, Peggy and the other three hostages are stuck. It’s dark. The storage space has no windows and the dim light coming in around the door does nothing to illuminate the space.

Peggy initially tries every trick she has to get out of the zip ties, but she can’t manage anything in her current physical state, and neither can the other hostages.  Again, she curses her lack of mobility. She’s in labor, terrified, starving, and dehydrated. It’s nearly impossible to think straight. 

Her contractions are becoming more regular, and closer together.

Peggy has no idea how much later it is when the door is finally thrown open and a flashlight is shined in her face.  It’s the bozos again, and they have backup, just one more guy, but that doesn’t bode well. 

The taller guy and the new guy drag Peggy to her feet, and then out into the garage.  “Where are you taking me?” she demands, but they don’t answer.

She has no idea if being separated from the group is a good thing, or a bad thing.  Maybe they’re going to let her go, or maybe they’re going to get rid of her. She has to do something.

They force her up a grimy stairwell and through an emergency door, out into a vacant lot.  She can hear freeway traffic, but can’t see much. The place is overgrown with brush and littered with construction debris.  It’s already getting dark outside. This has already gone on far too long. 

There’s no car outside, no van.  

_ Oh shit _ .

Peggy feigns a contraction, falling to her knees as dead weight between the two men.  They curse, trying to pull her to her feet. Peggy arches up, ramming the back of her head into the face of the new guy, at the same time kicking the taller guy in the groin so hard the impact reverberates through her entire body.  They yelp and curse. She’s thrown to the ground, hard. Unable to catch herself, she sprawls face first into the dirt. Instinctively, Peggy curls herself into a ball, trying to protect the baby, waiting for the inevitable retaliation.  

It never comes.

Peggy hears grunts, and then the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh.  The new guy falls limply to the ground next to Peggy, out cold. Peggy turns and looks in time to see someone grab the taller guy like he’s a ragdoll.  The taller guy takes a punch to the face that sounds like it breaks bones. He quickly joins his partner in the dirt.

Peggy blinks mutely at her backup.

" _Steve_ ?”

In a heartbeat, he’s crouched on the ground next to her, his hands trailing lightly over her body.  The expression on his face is like nothing she’s ever seen from him, a grim determination that makes her believe he’s capable of anything.  “You okay?” he asks tightly, as he cuts the zip tie binding her hands. “Did they hurt you?”

Peggy is still too stunned to say anything.  What the hell is  _ Steve _ doing here?  She finally opens her mouth to say something, when another contraction hits her, stronger than the others.  It completely robs her of breath.

“She’s over here,” Steve yells.  “Get the ambulance.”

Steve wraps his arms around Peggy’s shoulders and reminds her about the breathing exercises from the childbirth class.  “It’ll be okay,” he says. “Everything will be just fine.”

 

* * *

 

It’s all a blur.  Peggy sees the two assailants, still lying on the ground, now handcuffed, as she’s strapped onto the gurney.  Natasha is there, with several SHIELD agents. Truly, Peggy doesn’t give a shit who’s there, other than Steve.  The contractions are coming fast and hard and someone needs to either give her some really good drugs, or kill her and put her out of her misery.

Steve climbs into the back of the ambulance with her.  His grim determination has been replaced by what looks like barely controlled terror.

“We have to stop the labor,” Peggy manages to tell the EMT, Monica, between contractions.  “I’m not due.”

Monica appears to be somewhere in her fifties, and doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who puts up with any nonsense.  She looks at Steve. “You the ...” she gestures vaguely with her hand, “guy?”

Steve nods mutely, his eyes wide, his hand held securely in Peggy’s grip.

“How far along is she?” Monica asks.

“Thirty-six weeks,” Steve replies tightly.  “Almost thirty-seven.”

Monica laughs and pats Peggy on the shoulder.  “Honey,” she says, “you’re full term. You’re having this baby now.”

 

* * *

 

The birth of Peggy’s child definitely isn’t the calm experience she was hoping for.  

Peggy is on the Beltway, being jostled around in the back of an ambulance in stop and go rush hour traffic.  There are no painkillers, and Peggy still has gravel in her hair, and dirt in her teeth, from where she was shoved to the ground.  

But Steve is there, and Monica is very competent.

In spite of everything, Peggy and Steve’s little girl is born perfect.  

 

* * *

 

Hours later, both Peggy and baby Abigail have been cleaned up and are snuggled in a hospital bed together.  Peggy and Steve are staring at their daughter, who is asleep, oblivious to the world. She weighed in at a respectable seven pounds.  She has her father’s eyes, and a conehead that the doctors have assured Steve and Peggy will resolve on its own in a few days. 

Peggy texted a picture to her parents, and she expects her mother will be on a flight to D.C. as soon as humanly possible.  Peggy isn’t sure she’s ready for her mother’s visit, but there isn’t much she can do about it. And she’s found herself rather looking forward to having her mother’s advice - though she suspects that will get old in short order.

Looking over at Steve, Peggy notices his knuckles are scraped.  She touches his hand, avoiding the wound. “What did you do?”

He looks at her, arching an eyebrow.  “It’s from hitting those guys.”

Sighing, Peggy leans back in her bed.  “Not that I’m not grateful, but why were you there?”

He shrugs.  “It’s a long story.  Short version - Buck and I were with Natasha when she got the call.  She didn’t want to take us. We insisted.”

Giving him a wry smile, Peggy reaches over and cups his cheek in her hand.  She can only imagine what Steve’s “insisting” actually consisted of. Natasha is invariably professional.  Taking civilians on a mission is a blatant violation of protocol, even if one of them is the Director’s live-in partner.  

“I was really glad to see you,” Peggy admits.

Steve’s expression is grave and he shakes his head.  “If they’d hurt you, Peg, or the baby - “

She presses her finger to his lips.  “They didn’t. We’re both fine.”

He takes a deep breath and nods.  He leans over and kisses Peggy and then presses a kiss to the top of the baby’s head.

Peggy laughs.  “Well, this didn’t go quite how I expected.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head.  “No, it didn’t.”

Taking a deep breath, Peggy sobers.  “We don’t have anything for her,” she says.  “No carseat, no clothes, no diapers, no - “

“Actually, we do,” Steve says.  “The guys threw me -  _ us _ \- a baby shower.  I’ll have to run home and get the stuff, but we have a few things.”

Peggy blinks back tears.  “That was very thoughtful of them.”

Steve gives her a wry smile.  “They also gave us condoms and five bottles of booze, so I wouldn’t give them too much credit.”

Peggy laughs, but then sobers.  “Oh,” she says, “that reminds me, I bought something too.”

“What?”

“A house.”

Steve blinks at her.  “You bought a house? When?”

“This morning,” she says.  Oh god, was it really only this morning?

Steve laughs.  “Normally I’d say that’s the biggest shock of the day, but today, it’s hard pressed to make the top three.”

  
  


* * *

 

Peggy’s three week maternity leave turns out to be closer to six months.  It’s not entirely leave. She still answers quite a few emails and reviews files, but she doesn’t go into the office at all.  The Council decides that given her expertise, and in light of the hostage situation, that it would be in SHIELD’s best interest to accede to her demands.

Steve paints the baby’s room in the new house - with low VOC paint, of course.  Bucky and Natasha assemble the nursery furniture that Peggy ordered. The roof is replaced, along with all the gutters and downspouts.  Peggy’s mother visits, and by the time she leaves, everyone is still on speaking terms. It’s a minor miracle.

 

* * *

 

When all is said and done, baby Abigail is a day shy of six weeks old when they finally move into the new house.  The place is three times the size of the condo, so it looks a little bare. Peggy decided to forego the decorator, so they’re picking up pieces as they need them.  So far, they have nursery furniture, a new king size bed, a couch, and a TV. Most of Peggy’s old furniture is in the guest rooms and the basement. The condo goes on the market next week.

Peggy is standing in the living room, staring at an enormous expanse of blank wall.  

Steve walks in with the baby swaddled to his chest in a wrap.  “Whatcha doin?”

Peggy looks at him, trying to bite back a smile.  He constantly has the baby secured to his chest. The only time Peggy gets her is when she needs to nurse.  As magical as Steve’s rack is, it doesn’t make food, a fact which is a source of endless irritation to Abigail.

“We need art,” Peggy says.  She holds her hands up, framing the blank wall.  “A lot of it.”

Steve nods sagely.  “I might have something.”

“Nope,” Peggy says flatly.

“Why not?” Steve asks, offended.

Peggy gives him a withering look.  “I am not putting a naked picture of myself on the wall, Steve.”

Steve huffs.  “Not  _ all _ of my paintings are of you.”

She looks at him again.

“Fine,” he says.  “I can work on something new.”

She pats him on the arm.  “Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Peggy nurses Abigail in the rocker until she falls asleep.  Very carefully, Steve takes her from Peggy and settles her in her crib. 

Rearranging her shirt, Peggy joins him.  They stand together, looking down at the sleeping baby.  Peggy already knows Abigail won’t stay asleep for long, and when she wakes, Steve will get her.  She’ll probably end up spending the rest of the night asleep on his chest. Peggy has pointed out that all of his baby books say not to do that, but Steve is having none of it.

With a happy sigh, Steve reaches out and wraps his arm around Peggy’s waist, pulling her to him.  She goes into his arms happily, resting her head against his chest. It kills her to think that she almost threw away their chance.

“What’re you thinking about?” Steve asks, his voice muffled against her hair.

She pulls back and looks up at him.  “I love you.”

His face breaks into a smile and he leans down, kissing her.  “I love you too, Peg. Always.”

**END STORY**

 

* * *

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

**EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER**

  
  


Peggy lets herself into the suite.  The negotiations have been beyond frustrating and she is completely burnt out.  She’s been in London for a week and she is so ready to go home. However, her trip just got extended by a week.  Taking off her jacket, she hangs it up and then heads down the hallway to the bedroom.

She stops short at the doorway, startling with fright.  Her bag drops loudly to the floor, forgotten.

Steve winks at her.  “Don’t call security,” he says.  “I have the passcode.”

Taking a deep breath, her heart still hammering in her chest, Peggy regains some of her composure.  Steve is laying on the bed, sans socks and shoes, watching her. 

“If you came all this way, you best have a good deal more than the passcode,” she says pointedly.

He grins in reply, undoing the button on his jeans.

Rolling her eyes, Peggy picks up the bag she dropped and tosses it onto the desk.  Then she crosses the room to Steve, looking down at him. He’s absurdly attractive, and it isn’t helped by the fact that she’s missed him terribly.  It’s rare that they get any time alone. 

She shakes her head.  “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs.  “Abigail and I decided since your trip is running long that we’d come for a visit.  She’s staying with your parents tonight.”

“Ah,” Peggy replies.  She wondered if the baby was asleep in the other room.  But since she isn’t ... Peggy pulls her skirt up far enough to give her some maneuvering room and then she crawls over Steve, straddling him.

He sucks in a deep breath, his hands skimming up her thighs, under her skirt.  He arches an eyebrow at her. “No stockings?”

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she replies tartly.

“Fair enough,” he says, squeezing her ass.  He rolls her over onto her back and covers her body with his own, kissing her deeply.

Peggy breaks off the kiss, trying to ignore the fact that Steve turns his attention to her neck.  “I’m going to need some references,” she says as haughtily as she can manage. “And I typically expect those in my employ to be better at taking direction.”

“Oh, I can take direction,” Steve assures her as he unzips her skirt and pulls it away.  

Peggy gives up on the role playing and tugs Steve’s shirt over his head, scratching her nails down his back.  He groans, but redoubles his efforts to undress them both. In no time, they’re both naked. 

Peggy flips him over onto his back and strokes him several times before sinking down onto him.  They’re trying for another kid, god help them both. Though that really isn’t the agenda for the evening.  She just wants to fuck Steve. He seems equally single-minded, using his fingers to rub her as they move together.  It’s been too long and in no time she’s coming apart around him, hissing his name as he follows close behind.

 

* * *

 

They lay together in the rumpled covers, Peggy’s head pillowed on Steve’s chest.  “How much did this visit cost me?” she asks.

“You pay for quality service,” he says dryly.

She pinches his nipple.  “I’m serious.”

He yelps and captures her hand in his to prevent further attacks.  “Nothing,” he says. “I used your airline points.”

“Ah.”  She rolls over and reaches for the room service menu.  As she’s ordering, Steve curls up behind her, pressing kisses along her shoulders and the back of her neck.  She finally hangs up and twists around to face him. “Is discussion of my tea preferences really that appealing?”

He pins her to the bed.  “You know how I feel about chili cheese fries.”

“Chips,” she corrects.

“Whatever.”

 

* * *

 

Hours later, after the room service has been cleared away and Steve has made a point of how much he’s missed her -  _ again _ \- they’re finally in bed with the lights out.

Steve curls around her.  “You’re going to let me stay the night?”

Peggy snorts and laughs at the same time.  “If you try to leave, I will hunt you down.”

He makes a contented sound.

“You’re going to have to be up early,” she says, poking him in the side.

“Oh, I’ll be up,” he assures her.

“I don’t mean like that,” she says, rolling her eyes in the dark.  “I mean you’re going to get my daughter and bring her to see me before my first meeting at ten.”

“Ah,” he says.  She can feel him nod.  “Yeah. Okay.”

Peggy rolls over, facing him, and gives him a gentle kiss.  “I’m really glad you decided to come visit.”

He pulls her closer.  “Me too.”

 

**END STORY**


End file.
